


The Valentine's Day Massacre

by NancyBrown



Series: Straysverse [8]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Children of Earth Fix-It, Community: reel_torchwood, F/M, Gang Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torchwood is caught in the middle of a war between two alien gangs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for reel_torchwood.
> 
> Characters: Jack, Ianto, Gwen, Steven, Lois, Alice, Freda Evans, Original Characters, Agent Johnson, Martha, Mickey, Miss Valentine, Rhiannon  
> Pairings: Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys, Martha/Mickey  
> Rating: Some scenes only appropriate for adults  
> Beta: jo02, with greatest thanks  
> Warnings: murder most foul, graphic violence, background references to prostitution and noncon  
> Spoilers: references to all of TW canon as well as to the novels, audiobooks, and radio plays  
> Prompt: The St. Valentine's Day Massacre (1968)  
> Disclaimer: Torchwood characters and situations belong to the BBC. "The St. Valentine's Day Massacre" (1967) belongs to Twentieth-Century Fox. The real St. Valentine's Day Massacre as heavily dramatized in the film was a famous unsolved murder in Chicago in 1929. [Click here](http://www.infoplease.com/spot/valmassacre1.html) to learn more about the original event.  
> Part of Straysverse. (For those who came in late: Jack and Gwen have rebuilt the latest version of Torchwood Cardiff with Lois and a few new faces, while Ianto and Steven have returned to their old lives.)

***  
Chapter 1  
***  
February 14th  
***

The morning dawned cold and cloudy. Snowflakes cluttered the air, defiantly white against the grubby city until they turned to thin, cold, brownish slush in the streets, seeping through shoes and shivering down unprotected necks. It was a miserable snow, pale and mean, and wet from the Bay. Not enough fell to close the schools, not yet, despite the urgent prayers of Cardiff's children. Even above the usual noises of the city came the rushing hush of the snow, which muted the rest by its ancient cold magic.

The city bustle and the shushing snow both crackled with the sound of gunfire splitting the air. On the street outside the old garage, people darted from the echoing noise, loud and shocking in the air. Mobiles came out, and the CCTV cameras hummed, yet later, not a single photograph or video would be clear, not of the building, not of the four people who walked out, nor of their overlarge SUV speeding away from the scene.

The police arrived within minutes, and PC Davidson took the first crack at the witnesses as his colleagues secured the area. What did you see, did you snap a photo, where did they go? He'd done this a thousand times before.

"Oi, Andy!" came a shout from the door. Even as Andy nodded at the woman he'd interviewed, he could see past PC Grayden into the bloody mess. He saw what Grayden had seen instantly: the blood was blue and green, and no way had that ever been a human hand.

He sighed. "Best call Torchwood. That's their division." He glanced at the woman who'd followed him over, and he wondered how to hide the alien murders from her.

"Torchwood?" she asked. Cardiff's worst-kept secret might still be slightly secret, he thought. Then the woman said, "But they were the ones what did it."

***  
February 7th  
***

Their day began as their normal days did: grumbling at the alarm, grumbling more when Jack’s wrist strap beeped at them mournfully from the bedside table. Each cast a groggy eye to the time to determine if there was sufficient padding in the morning routine for a quick fumble under the warm bedspread before they showered. Fumble and shower achieved, and breakfast a promise in the car, Ianto let Jack take the wheel whilst he called Steven to confirm their plans for the following day.

Alice picked up, and said without a hello, ″He can only spend one night. We’ve got a dinner Saturday.″

Ianto knew better than arguing with her. She could have decided not to let him come visit. ″That’s fine. Are you coming to fetch him or should I plan on driving him home?″

″Bring him at six.″

The phone made a noise like it was being jostled, then Steven said, ″Hi.″

″Hi. Are we on for tomorrow?″

″Yep.″ Steven had the shy sound he adopted when he didn’t want to say something in front of his mum. ″When will you be here?″

″I’ll try to come before five.″

″All right.″ Again the quiet breath indicating there was more he wanted to express. Ianto could chat with him later. More and more this awkwardness had as much to do with the early signs of puberty as it did with Steven's recurrent nightmares about his death. They could get through both. They always did. Ianto had come back from the dead, and Steven had, too. They'd wound up one another's best friend by accident and necessity, as strange as that looked to everyone else. Even Jack, who died all the time, didn't understand them as well as they could each other at times.

″I'll see you then.″ They said their farewells and rang off. Ianto sent him a text on his own mobile: "U ok?"

The reply came immediately: "Im ok."

Jack gave him a not even remotely disinterested glance. ″Everything all right?″

″Fine. I’ll leave work early tomorrow. I hope the boss doesn’t mind.″

There were plenty of places for Jack to go with that obvious an opening. Ianto recalled days when Jack would jump in disparaging Ianto′s boss, or start suggesting lurid sexual acts for Ianto to curry said boss’s favour. He hoped for the former more than the latter, as an erection would be inconvenient now that they were pulling into the car park by the new office.

No-one had called this morning, and Jack's review of the overnight systems had offered no particular warnings of terror before they'd left the flat. They took a moment, casual and happy, for a quick kiss in the car. On the rare quiet days, so rare it had only happened twice, Ianto was happy to let Jack distract him from the doldrums of their paperwork and routine with sex. Today he made due with the taste of Jack's toothpaste in his mouth and the scent of his skin as they breathed over one another before reluctantly pulling away to start the day. The winter chill hit him when he opened his door, a bleak reminder of death and loss and sorrow after the blazing warmth of Jack.

"See you," said Ianto, drawing out his own keys for the front office. He let himself inside, booted up his work computer, and got to his day. Several of the regular search algorithms he left running on the server spit out their latest findings, and Ianto diligently read through each one. His self-created job was to track down the many artefacts and items once held by Torchwood Cardiff or London, since snatched up by collectors or worse, and return them to safe storage here in the vaults. His cover as an antiques dealer and purveyor of odd knick-knacks forestalled inquiries. The little shop front, which hid the true nature of the reborn Torchwood, held eccentric hours, advertised shabby old porcelain not even a granny could love, and served as the perfect backdrop for retrieving the alien tech which had gone wandering after one location had burned, and the other had blown up.

He named the shop _Chanticleer_ , on a dare from Jack.

As he sorted through the pings, categorising those which looked promising, Lois popped in from the back. "Morning." She plunked a mug down on his desk, and plunked herself in the chair opposite.

Ianto raised his eyebrows. "That bad?"

"Open the overnight log and see for yourself." Lois frowned and rubbed the bridge of her nose as Ianto logged into the regular Torchwood servers.

"How many does that make this week?"

"Seven."

"Want a hand with the clean-up?"

She gave him a small but friendly smile. "I wish. No, we'll go stomping out, Jack will shout a bit, and nothing will change."

Her cynicism was a new acquisition. The alien gangs had been fighting for territory, and the skirmishes meant a rising body count. No humans had been killed, which meant that Torchwood might take an interest but had no authority. The human police played dumb, not a stretch for them. That left only the gangs themselves to watch one another, and they generally watched each other die.

"That's our day, anyway," she said, tossing in a breezy nonchalance she clearly did not feel. "What've you got today?"

He pulled up one of his searches. "Shopping."

"Lovely. Get us some crisps while you're out."

"Yes, ma'am."

As soon as Lois went back into the secret workplace behind the false wall, Ianto printed his list, closed the shop, and took his keys. He was back to using the company car again after Jack had borrowed his car for that unfortunate chase last month. The slim black towncar lacked the grace of his most recent short-lived Audi as he sped to the first address.

He needn't have bothered with the rush. As he parked, he saw a too-familiar vehicle parked in front of the semi-detached he'd come to visit. There was still a tiny chance, although as he exited the car, that chance extinguished. Firestone Finance had sent their acquisitions team, who were just leaving the house with a box in tow.

Ianto waited for them at the street. He ignored the two men, heavies who'd been hired for their ability to point a gun in the right direction two times out of three, and focused on the ringleader. "Miss Valentine."

"Late again, Mr. Jones," said Miss Valentine. Her expression snapped into focus, done with whatever mind games she'd been playing on the previous owner of the artefact now in her company's possession. "Really, it's hardly stealing," she said, plucking the thought out of his head half-formed. "We pay." What she'd paid in exchange for an Arkellian memory whip was not open for questions, nor were her plans for same. Valentine snorted. "Please."

Per Jack's instructions on dealing with her, Ianto began thinking of cans of soup stacked in neat rows. He delighted privately in the grumpy frown which flashed over her face. The soup slipped, and he thought of his next stop.

"Thank you. We'll visit them next."

He got a headache for his trouble.

On the way to the third stop, which he hoped he could reach before them, his mobile chirped with a text. Inviting wreck and ruin, he checked it. Steven had to cancel for this weekend after all. Ianto debated calling Alice and reminding her how much her son needed to spend time with them. She would probably remind Ianto that he'd been the one to cancel the prior two weeks.

Next weekend, he promised himself, before the sat nav interrupted his thoughts with directions.

***

Gwen dropped her latex gloves into the bin liner they'd brought to the crime scene. Dr. Pol had asked for an extra pair of hands to examine the latest corpse, but with a quick poke into the poor creature's innards, she'd pronounced it dead from the series of bullets ripping open its guts. No surprises. Gwen took a moment to look into the alien's face. She couldn't even recall the species of the last one, and this wasn't easier to identify.

"What was it?"

"She was an Armaxian."

"Oh." She watched as Pol wrote down her findings. Reports at Torchwood had been a joke since long before Gwen herself came aboard, but Jack said recording their work made the difference between being official and being nosy bastards. "Do we know which gang she was in?"

"Neither." Jack came into the room. "The family insists she wasn't involved. This was a drive-by."

Dr. Pol clucked to herself. "She had enough drugs in her system to be floating in the stratosphere. Someone sold them to her."

Gwen said, "If it's drugs, can't we … "

"Not our domain," Jack said.

She glared at him, which bounced off without landing. Either he didn't care, or he didn't think caring would help. "Can we link it to the rest? Surely if we put enough of these deaths together, we can stop them."

Pol said, "Those poor blokes yesterday wound up with two slugs in their heads each. Nasty business."

Jack said, "And we caught the slugs before they could get any human victims. That's our job. Are we done here?"

They walked out together to where Albert and Lois waited, the former standing guard and the latter being friendly and sympathetic to the family. That used to be her job. Gwen glanced away, and paid closer attention to the houses around her. The team came to this area of the city more and more often, the cheaper streets where the semi-legal alien immigrants lived and bred and worked for one another and paid their taxes. The ones who could pass for human, like Dr. Pol, could move into the nicer parts of Cardiff, even the suburbs. The rest made do by working nights, wearing hats and hoodies, and making an effort not to be noticed by anyone.

Freda Evans lived around here, Gwen remembered, with a sudden wash of jumbled memories. She hadn't thought about their part-alien refugee in months. She'd been more Andy's friend, of course, fond of her "squadman." But Gwen had been acting as a care coordinator, hadn't she? Social worker? But she'd stopped. Got busy. Guilt ate at her. It must have been when Anwen was a baby, she thought. She'd had too much to do back then. So many of her memories of the time rose and fell on her daughter.

"Jack, I'll meet you back at the Hub."

Before he could say a word, she turned and walked down the road, pulling out her mobile to search for the address. The others wouldn't even bring the body back to the base, and instead would allow the family to dispose of the dead girl's remains. As Freda Evans' name and address came up on her Google, Gwen realised she'd never even asked the dead alien's name. She would have done, once.

Freda's flat wasn't far. Gwen felt the eyes on her as she buzzed up. A male voice answered, but Freda broke through. " _Come on, then._ " The lock buzzed, allowing Gwen inside the dark building. The spicy, strange smells of alien cookery seeped out from closed doors, had soaked into the woodwork. Gwen knew if she peeled off the crumbling floral wallpaper and sprinkled it into a soup, she'd taste the same meals which had been cooked here for decades. Freda's flat was up two flights of stairs, squashed between two other flats along that side of the building.

When she knocked, the door came open only to the latch. "We ain't done nothing," Freda said through the gap.

"I know that, Freda," said Gwen in her kindest voice. "I was in the neighbourhood and wanted to say hello."

Freda's face scrunched up in disbelief. She undid the latch and let Gwen inside. The tiny flat was filled by a bed, a miniature refrigerator, and a hotplate, with a toilet half-concealed by a curtain. Clothes hung neatly on a line strung across one side of the room. The space was very clean, with the proverbial hardwood floors scrubbed enough to eat the proverbial dinners off of, if Gwen could find an open spot large enough to set her meal.

The man standing beside Freda took up a lot of space all on his own. His skin was a disturbing shade of green and he had an extra arm Gwen was affecting not to stare at. "Hello," she said, sticking out her own hand in a friendly manner. "I'm Gwen. Freda's friend."

He didn't take the hand. "Never seen you before."

"I met Freda when she first came to Cardiff."

"Yeah," said Freda, which didn't help Gwen know how much she'd told her new friend. "She's a friend of Tony's."

Tony? Gwen scraped her memories. "Tony Pratt?"

The big man nodded, and turned away to sit down on the bed. Freda said, "Andy's been busy. Tony's been looking after us. Ain't that right, Slaus?"

Slaus grunted. Perhaps he'd exhausted his English. More likely, he'd exhausted his interest. To Gwen's great surprise, he picked up a novel from beside the bed and opened to a bookmark. To her greater surprise, the book was Fifty Shades. Good God.

"How've you been, Freda?"

"Ta, fine," said the girl, turning to get some Cokes from the fridge. She was in her early twenties now and no longer the scared teenager who'd fallen through the Rift from their future, but Gwen could still read the same spooked, cautious body language from long ago. She accepted the Coke, paying close attention to Freda's arms and hands.

"What's this?" she asked, reaching out for the thin ring on Freda's finger. It was gold ...ish, and sported a tiny chip of probably diamond. Gwen grinned. "When's the big day?"

Freda snatched her hand back. "Last year. Andy said yous was busy chasing a ghost."

Gwen laughed. "If he talks about Scooby-Doo, he means Torchwood."

"Nah, he knows Torchwood. Some case you had. Missing kid."

Gwen shrugged. "We do a lot of work." The words fretted at her. She always felt the worst about cases involving children. They all did. Ianto had a snap of a little girl he'd never even met on his desk alongside Steven's and two smaller snaps of his niece and nephew. Gwen kept hers on her phone, with hundreds of photographs of her daughter interspersed with the kids they couldn't save. For the life of her, she couldn't remember a case that would've caused her to miss Freda's wedding. It must have been important.

"Sorry," she said, and glanced back at Slaus. "He seems nice."

Freda's shrug said volumes from one woman to another. Maybe he was nice, maybe he wasn't, but he was a good man who treated her all right, and he'd be there for her, which was more than she could say for anyone else. Green and an extra arm and a flat in the bad part of town were exchanges for knowing he'd be there in the morning.

***

Jack stared at the white board in the new Hub. Lois had installed it one afternoon when the rest of the team had been out. The neat and precise angles cut out a space for detailed work in dry-erase colours and a perky yet passive-aggressive note: "Now you don't have to leave Post-Its everywhere." Jack had responded with his own trademarked variety of passive-aggression, which led Gwen to leave a note of her own: "Any body parts drawn on this board will be removed from the artist and timed to see how long they take to regrow." Jack had stuck one final Post-It to the board and succumbed to the inevitable, using the greying surface to make notes on their cases. He added another tick mark to the body count in one corner.

He heard Albert approach behind him. "A baker's dozen."

"We could divide them up. Seven from the Bugs, six from the Machine." Jack hacked a rough, red line between the sets of numbers. Mopolite's Machine ran most of south England. The alien gangster would be pleased to run Cardiff as well, if only to thumb his nose at Torchwood. The Bugs were the closest thing to an organised gang here, and they wanted nothing to do with Mopolite or his cronies. Self-rule, even if that meant no more than the dregs of alien culture left over from the days of the Rift and a fuckton of Weevils. Jack was bright enough never to say the Welsh aliens reminded him of Welsh humans, especially not in front of Gwen and Ianto. Lately, though, the Bugs had got into the murder game as well, shooting up the homes and businesses of Machine-leaning aliens. It was a mess.

"We could tell the police, boss." Albert floated the idea as he had the other three times: carefully, pretending as though he'd just thought of the notion.

"No."

"Right. Stupid of me to mention."

Jack checked his mobile again. Ianto had texted to let him know they wouldn't have Steven this weekend after all. "I'm going to pay a visit to our friend Mr. Mopolite."

"Want company?"

"Not this time."

***

Dr. Pol arrived home earlier than usual, and waved at her neighbour Mrs. Pettidear as she came up the walk to her own house. "Evening, love."

"Good evening, Irene." Mrs. Pettidear smiled, showing off her newest set of false teeth. She'd lost her previous two sets somewhere in the dusty recesses of her house. Pol had come over to help her look, and had had a quick tidy while she'd been at it, but the old woman's teeth had run off with the mice.

"Are you still coming over tomorrow for dinner?"

"Wouldn't miss it. I'll bring my sponge."

"Lovely." Dr. Pol let herself inside, hoping Mrs. Pettidear meant a cake. Sometimes she got confused, which was why Pol checked on her as often as she could.

She set her bag down, pulled the itchy wig off her head to rest it on the hat rack by the door, and sat down. She'd have to tidy her own home tonight if she planned on having company tomorrow. Another weekend, another dinner party. Last weekend, she'd had everyone from work over, as joyless as those gatherings tended to be. The only faces she didn't see every day were Rhys and dear little Anwen. Even were Albert or Lois seeing someone currently, they wouldn't bring them round to hers without a thorough vetting, and that was so tiresome. Better, much better, when she had the neighbours round, and knew which face to put on all at once: Irene Pol, immigrant as a child from Eastern Europe but lately of Swansea, GP and also baker of savoury casseroles. No talking about work, their successes marred by their many failures. No waiting for a stray mention of people who'd died before Jack had brought her on. Just cheery interaction with the humans around her, Ms. Suwali's best casserole, a bottle of good wine from Mr. Clarence, a bottle of cheaper wine from that young Darren who'd moved in last month, and Mrs. Pettidear's sponge to top it off.

In the five years she'd lived in Cardiff, she'd gathered friends almost as a hobby. She had arrived late in the night of that awful bombing, just another doctor come to help with the wounded. Something about the city intrigued her. She'd resigned her steady yet sedate position at home and started working in the brisk corridors of St. Helen's, until she met Jack and found another set of friends to gather and another duty at her feet.

Her people were communal. Had been. Meals were never shared with less than ten friends, and beds held twenty or thirty at a time. She'd been a bit of a strange one even then, preferring groups of no more than four or five. Her parents, all eight of them, had despaired she'd ever grow up and learn to enjoy normal interaction, and Pol had disappointed them. She'd gone to the stars as soon as she could, revelling in the smaller company of a spacecraft. Freedom had saved her life, and too many of her fellow survivors had expired of loneliness since.

Pol found that she missed the closeness of a dozen friends piled in with her at a table once in a while. Gatherings were a taste of home.

***  
February 8th  
***

Despite the four times he asked, Jack refused to allow Ianto to come with him to London. "It's far," he demurred. "You have things to do here," he reasoned. "I don't want to have to worry if this is a double-cross," he pointed out.

"If it's a double-cross, you'll need me there to cover the exits and watch your back."

The fourth answer was harder to pull out, because it was the truthful answer. "I don't want him to see us together. I don't want him using you to get to me."

Ianto frowned. He had an adorable pouting frown Jack loved to see even when he was the one who'd put it there. "You understand they must already know about us. There's no way that's still a secret."

"I know, but as far as he knows, you and I are just friends with benefits. Do this for me. Let me be a little less worried about you today."

Ianto relented and Jack drove alone, putting the radio on as high as he could to drown out his other worries. Cardiff had always been rough with aliens and the Rift. The average citizen had a five percent chance of getting ripped open by a monster from some interstellar hell, and a one in a thousand chance of being snatched up and sent to that same hell. When his own staff hadn't been attempting to plunge the whole city into ruins, they had to stop some blighter with a grudge from doing the same. Some of the worst trouble had settled after the Rift closed. He'd naively hoped Cardiff would grow into its new peaceful existence like any other city. Unfortunately for the human population, the change meant a lower risk of death from being eaten by aliens, and a higher risk of getting shot by one.

Remembering the night the Rift had closed never led him anywhere good. Every last stolen moment was mere prelude to another, more painful goodbye. Even now, the days he spent with the man he loved had the same end in distant sight, and no chance at altering that path for either. Ianto had one grave. Jack would stand at his next one, just as powerless to stop that fate as he had been to free his created ghost from oblivion.

These thoughts chased him down the road until he put as solid a damper as he could on the nightmares before reaching his destination. Telepathic species were common as muck. The last thing he needed was to give Mopolite an even bigger edge in their conversation.

The receptionist appeared human. Jack threw on his best grin as he told her he had an appointment. Her lack of interest made him wonder if she'd been forewarned about him, but a quick glance over the desk found a framed photo of her smiling with her probably wife or girlfriend.

He sat. The anteroom was simple enough for the desired purpose: a little claustrophobic, chairs not comfortable for any one species, current newspapers open to the sensational homicides, and just in range a radio tuned to a dull talk station. Supplicants, business partners, even allies, would endure this room as their nerves rasped into nothing prior to seeing the head of the Machine.

"Mr. Mopolite will see you now," said the receptionist.

As Jack entered the inner office, he was taken aback by the spacious room, stretching far above his head and surrounding him with tasteful opulence. Art pieces Jack recognised from their pattern if not their pedigree hung from every wall where the bookcases allowed. Rich, red draperies covered the tall windows, and a dark, luxurious carpet clung to his boots as he walked. Far above his head, the ceiling hung with lights. The head of the room was taken up by Mopolite's large desk, wide enough for Jack to comfortably squeeze his last six or seven playmates, with room for snacks.

Jack nodded internally; the effect was well-designed to throw visitors into confusion. He ought to consider the same for his own office. Gwen would argue, though, especially if he had to knock through the wall to take over her space in order to achieve the same kind of grandeur.

"Captain Harkness," said Mopolite, rising to greet him. He gestured to the two bodyguards and indicated the slumped figure occupying the chair in front of his desk. The guards, two hulking Hebraxians, easily lifted the limp body of an Athelite. No obvious injuries, Jack noted, and no obvious life signs. "Won't you sit down?"

Jack folded his arms, and Mopolite smiled, his mandibles twitching. "Apologies. Allow me." He removed a plastic tub from a drawer and pulled out a wipe. With exaggerated delicacy, he ran the wipe over the guest chair before dropping it in the bin. "All sorted. Please sit down."

Jack took the seat. "You know if you kill me, you're just going to get bored trying to make it stick."

Mopolite laughed with a short, urbane chuckle. "Captain, please. That scum had nothing to do with you. He was selling Neurotox to children."

And that's your job, Jack didn't say. There wasn't much point.

"Now, what did you wish to speak with me about?" His face radiated interest. Like everything about him, Mopolite's voice was smooth. Every vowel was perfect RP, every consonant crisp. He'd been born here, in an alien-heavy slum on the East End, but sounded like a graduate from a solid public school, a man with ambition who'd risen high.

"You're moving into my city. We've already got the Bugs. I'm getting tired of the body count rising on my doorstep."

Mopolite spread his arms wide. "It's a shame. My people are offering a better opportunity for the extraterrestrial community, but some choose to live in the past."

"Opportunity? For selling your drugs instead of the private suppliers? Or maybe you'd like to set up alien brothels in Cardiff to grow the business. There's a growth opportunity."

"Please, Captain. I do help provide certain amenities. Would you be surprised to know most of the clients for our houses of respite are human?"

Jack kept his features still, but Mopolite saw something. "You are. Did you honestly believe you're the only human who enjoys the pleasures of strange flesh? Our human clients think they're wearing costumes, but money is money even from fools."

"Too bad your workers won't see that money, or anything else. Your business stinks."

"Does it? My workers enjoy the best health care available for those of us who can't receive services from the NHS. They are protected in safe homes, and are paying into a very generous pension plan."

"If they live that long."

"It's a better and longer life than out on the street, Captain. Did you come here to complain about how well my people live, or to offer solutions to help them?"

"I came to ask you to stay out of Cardiff. I'm not getting in your way in London. I never interfered in Koris's business when he ran the mob. Let's stay on friendly terms."

Mopolite smiled. "I like you, Jack. I will let you in on something I haven't shared with many. On three occasions, I've met with the Boss Bug. We've talked. Tried to be friendly. Three times I came home to find one of my friends murdered while I was off negotiating peace. Every deal he's made, he's broken."

"Funny," Jack said. "He said the same thing about you."

"I'm sure." Mopolite reached into another drawer of his desk. Jack tensed. He might not be able to stay dead but dying hurt and also ruined his clothes. Mopolite removed a slim box and opened it, revealing long, thick, green cigars. "Do you smoke?"

"Thanks, no."

The alien gangster shrugged and selected one for himself. He delicately went through the various actions of preparing his cigar and lighting it, filling the air around the desk with a not-unpleasant smoke. "I'll tell you what. All this violence and nonsense is bad for business. Dead people don't buy merchandise. I will call a halt to our activities in your city for one week."

Jack waited for the catch. A week of fewer murders sounded good, but not if it meant twice the drive-by shootings next week. "In exchange for?"

"Nothing. I do this as a friend. My people and our organisation will stay out of Cardiff. That gives your little team seven days to solve the Bugs problem in your home. After that, my people will come back, and we will exterminate."

Jack fought the twitch, and failed. Mopolite couldn't possibly know. It had to be a shot in the dark, but it landed true, and Jack reminded himself he wasn't back on the station, wasn't clawing back from his first death. "Fine," he said, off balance. "One week."

Mopolite waved away the conversation without another thought, passing his hands over some papers on his desk. "By the by, please extend my warmest congratulations to the Smiths the next time you talk to them."

"I will." He had no idea what that meant, but damned if he was going to give up more now. "Are we done here?"

"I do have work to get back to. But please wait. I have a gift for you. To show my good faith." He touched the intercom button. "Marcie, would you send in the Captain's present?"

Jack stood. "I appreciate the thought, but you're right, I have work to do."

The door opened, and the receptionist ushered in two Abrani. Male and female twins, if Jack was any judge, and therefore highly prized for their intuitive link with each other and with the object of their interest. The bluish-grey of their skin made a soft background for the scarlet gems glittering over the scant clothing each wore, and the glittering black diamonds on their matching collars. One wore a long white braid on the left shoulder, and the other on the right.

"Captain, may I introduce Alana and Alani. They'd like to make your acquaintance for the next, let us say, three hours."

The male sidled closer to Jack and placed a cool hand against his wrist. "Captain," he said in a hushed tone. His sister approached directly, swaying as she stepped, mouth parted in an eager smile.

"My gift to you," Mopolite said.

This was a test, Jack knew. And he was going to fail.

***

Gwen tried to follow the plot of the book she read to Anwen. Apparently the purple pony was having a party with her friends but didn't understand the meaning of friendship. Every so often, Gwen glanced over the top of the book to see her daughter's rapt expression. "You really like this?"

"Ponies!" Anwen said. The tot was well into complete sentences and imagination play, but these big-eyes horses sent her back into infancy with delight.

"Okay," Gwen said with a smile, and put on the voices for when the purple pony discovered being a friend meant listening to your friends' needs, too. "That good?"

"You got Pinky's voice wrong," said her child, the delight of her days, the growing sprout in the garden of her love, etcetera. "But it was okay." Gwen kissed her and turned off the lamp for her nap.

"She's taller," Gwen said, plopping on the sofa beside Rhys. "How does she keep getting taller?"

"We could stop feeding her."

"Nah. She'll only break into the cupboards, eat all the food, and call the police on us."

"Shame. Guess we'll have to give her dinner tonight. Pasta?"

Gwen smiled. Rhys Williams was born to care for children. Gwen herself wasn't quite sure about the process. She'd given things her best, but after becoming an expert at nappies and bathtime, she discovered she hadn't a clue about what to do now that the child was toilet-trained and wanted playtime in the tub without her mum. Children were mysteries.

She frowned. "Rhys, do you remember Freda Evans?"

"Friend of yours?"

"A kind of friend. I met her on a case. She got married a while back. I didn't go to the wedding. I didn't even know about it."

Rhys scrunched his face. "You sure, love? I thought we got the invite. You had work."

"Maybe I did." The thought bothered her more. What on Earth would have kept her from Freda's wedding day? She got up from the sofa and began rummaging around on the desk. They had piles and files all over. Rhys tried to organise, and Gwen knew she didn't. But they rarely pitched anything, especially something personal.

Under a stack of receipts and two birthday cards, Gwen found the card. Nothing fancy. Freda didn't have money to waste on gold edging and lace and had instead used a photograph of herself and Slaus, both looking human enough to pass. Her handwriting was pretty, practically calligraphy, and she'd asked Gwen personally.

Gwen remembered receiving the card. As she held the stiff cardboard, she recalled with sudden clarity the conversation she'd had with Rhys. He had to get his suit pressed. She had to find a dress. They'd ask Mam to babysit.

But she hadn't gone.

She didn't remember not going, nor why she'd put work in front of a friend who needed her. A missing child, Freda had said. Gwen didn't remember any missing children cases since she'd come back to Cardiff.

Ianto might know.

She rang him on his mobile. "Ianto, sorry to bother you, love. Odd question. Did you make it to Freda Evans' wedding?"

There was a silence. "Hello to you, too."

"Sorry. I just wanted to know. Don't ask me why." She paused. "You remember Freda, yeah? She fell through the Rift from the future."

"I remember her. No, I didn't go to the wedding. When was it?"

"Bit over a year ago." Gwen read the date on the card, which only added to her anxiety as she read it off to him.

There was a much longer pause. Gwen wondered if the call had dropped. Bloody signals. Ianto finally said, "I was busy that day. Speaking of busy, I do need to go." He sounded out of breath. Oh God. Please let her not have interrupted her friends' love life yet again.

She said quickly, "All right. Thanks, Ianto." She rang off. Then she stared at the card, and the date, and she wondered.

***

Jack got home late. Ianto had made an attempt at cooking, which was better than most of his previous attempts. "Hungry?" he asked as soon as the door closed.

"Not really."

"All right." He'd lost his own appetite, and instead began loading the casserole into plastic for leftovers.

Jack watched him for a moment, then snapped out of whatever fog he was in. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He wasn't. He knew he was favouring his shoulder where he'd been shot. The wound had healed completely according to Dr. Pol. According to Ianto, it only hurt when he thought about it, which meant Pol was probably right.

"Lying." Jack hung up his coat, and Ianto could tell it had been a long day.

"It's nothing. Gwen's asking about Freda Evans. Apparently she got married."

Jack shrugged. "Yeah. Last year. I sent a toaster."

Ianto rubbed his shoulder, the phantom pain throbbing like an old rotted tooth. "Guess what day."

"Oh." Jack came closer. Gingerly, he took Ianto's good shoulder and rubbed his thumb over his collarbone. "Guess I was busy then."

"We all were. Gwen doesn't remember why. I couldn't bear telling her again." The thing which had been eating at him since her call came back. "She doesn't remember any of it. For all either of us knows, she's the one who shot me." He glanced at Jack. "Do not tell me. I still don't want to know."

"All right." Jack turned his head slightly. Sometimes, his mannerisms were very alien, especially when he'd been spending time among them again. "Although, since you brought up the subject, I dropped by Martha and Mickey's on my way back. They say hello."

Ianto felt warmth flow back. Martha liked him. He didn't know if Mickey liked him or merely tolerated him, but both were easy to be around, even after. They hadn't forgot, not yet. "How are they?"

"Pregnant."

"What?"

Jack sat down at their table, and Ianto joined him. "Martha's due in late September. Somehow, Mopolite knew before I did."

"That's not good."

"No. I told them. They're probably going to be scarce for a while. Maybe a long while. They've got friends in the London alien community, but they've got a lot of enemies, too. I don't know which Mopolite is, but they're not taking chances."

"Where will they go?"

Jack shrugged. "I told them not to tell me. We're being watched, too. My guess is they'll leave the country within the next month."

"That's hard."

"Yeah." Martha was one of Jack's few friends who understood him, and Mickey was the only person on the planet who'd known Jack before the immortality. They'd have to leave behind Martha's whole family and strike out alone all because some aliens didn't like what the two of them did for a living.

"You said we're being watched. I take it the meeting didn't go well?"

"Well, the highlight reel doesn't sound bad. Mopolite has agreed to stay out of Cardiff for one week."

"That's all?"

"He wants us to deal with the Bugs, or he's coming in to deal with them himself."

"Are we?"

Jack sighed and rubbed his face. He looked very tired. "I'll talk to the Boss Bug." He breathed out. "There's more."

"He also wants you to agree to not interfere when he does come in?"

"He didn't say. He didn't have to." Jack reached over, but didn't take Ianto's hand. After a second, Ianto reached out and touched him instead. "He tested me. Part of the business is high-class, and not so high-class, alien prostitution. He offered me a pair of twin Abrani. Called it a gift. Well, more like a loan for a few hours."

Ianto remembered Jack's tales about the Abrani. Hell, he'd wanked to a few of those stories, with Jack's hand hot against his back and Jack's mouth against his ear. But Jack was here, and Jack was telling him this story. "And?"

"And I failed the test. I told him no. You would have been hurt, and I couldn't do that to you. So now he knows about us for sure."

"Ah. Well. Like I said, he had to know already." He gave Jack's hand a squeeze. "Everything will be fine."

Jack pulled away. "No, it really won't. I just painted a target on you. I think you should go away for a few days when the week is up. Get out of sight."

"Are you coming with me?"

"I can't."

"Then I'm not going anywhere." Ianto took a glance around the kitchen, but the washing-up could wait. He took Jack's hand again. "Come on. It's time for bed."

***  
February 9th  
***

Dr. Pol rose late. Today was a rare day off, and she was worn out from last night. Her guests had stayed late into the night, and while a few helped tidy, her flat was still a mess. She let herself rest as long as she could justify putting off her chores, then padded out of bed to wash herself before tackling the rest of her home.

She wasn't expecting company to come by, and had her music turned up high: Dvorak today. She almost didn't hear the knock on the door. When she finally noticed, she flew to the door, nearly not putting her wig on in time. Callers did get upset when they saw her egg-bald head.

Pol cracked open her door with a cheery smile. "Hello?"

"Dr. Irene Pol?" asked the figure on the left. They both wore dark clothes, heavy against the chilly air, and sunglasses against the glare.

"Yes?"

Her door flew open the rest of the way, knocking the wind from her as it pushed her to the floor. The two strangers burst into her home, quickly closing the door behind them. Pol scrambled for her feet, for her gun, but a kick sent her sprawling, and she hit her chin on the edge of the nice coffee table. Her teeth rattled in pain, which was only made worse when one of the two figures – she still couldn't make out their features – kicked her squarely in the ribs.

She threw out an arm to defend herself, found it smacked away by what felt like a brick. Her head swimming, she turned to see a bat coming down at her face. She jerked away from the blow but not enough to escape. She felt the skin tear on her cheek, and by her nose. She screamed.

The other man kept kicking, forcing her over onto her back. She lay stunned for a moment as they repositioned. Her thoughts grew sluggish and scared. Were they robbers? Were they going to assault her? Did they believe her cover story and were they here to kill the immigrant?

She tried to roll to her side. The next kick was right in her face. Her nose broke, pouring choking blood into her throat. Pol curled into as tight a ball as she could to protect her organs, even as she lay there crying. She had to gather herself, had to think, had to find a way.

The first intruder grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her on her back again, even as the other pulled down her legs, ready for more battery. Her hands were free, and they were close enough to the first's face.

Terrified and angry now, Pol shot out her fingers directly into her assailant's eyes, feeling the warm squish, and also the sudden shooting agony through the empathic link she shared when she touched someone this way. Startled, the other stepped back, but she shot out her other hand, grabbed an ankle from two metres away, and yanked her second attacker to the floor.

She had the surprise, if only for the moment. Her hand reached for and found her gun, which she immediately pulled back to herself. She aimed it at the head of the second figure; the first still writhed in pain, clutching his face.

"Get. Out." she breathed.

The second man ran for the door, stopping to grab the shoulder of his friend, who was moaning, "That bitch, that BITCH."

She fired one shot, but missed wildly. "OUT!"

They ran, and she crawled after them to the door. She didn't see their vehicle, only heard them screech away. Her head was heavy, so she lay it down. The door was open. She was cold. She managed to swing one hand out enough to close it.

Sleep. Tired.

Dying.

She pressed her ear, hoping the comm would activate. "Jack?"

There was no reply. Dvorak rumbled through the speakers, pompous and loud, and she slipped into unconsciousness to the sounds of the New World.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Gwen came into work early. Technically today was a day off, but that meant the new people wouldn't come in. Dr. Pol had hosted another dinner party last night, and doubtless would be hungover for hours. Lois, while not quite as naive as Gwen herself had been when she'd started here, did still believe she could balance Torchwood and a social life, and was probably at brunch with friends. Albert was wherever Albert went when he wasn't at work. Reading to poor children or collecting stamps or sharpening his knife collection, God only knew.

Gwen liked the three of them very much. Lois was a dear, and Albert was a lamb, and Dr. Pol was better than everyone's mum. But she also liked her time here on ostensible days off, because she knew that eventually, Jack and Ianto would wander in, and for a little while, it would be like old days again.

Only this time, she didn't want them in just yet.

The Torchwood files were maddeningly spotty. After Tosh's death, Ianto had backed up all their data and sent discs to be securely stored in Glasgow. Gwen had spent weeks tracking down the discs and reinstalling all the old archives when she and Jack had set up shop here. The old records were as complete as they could be, minus a few CDs which had been damaged in transit.

She stopped herself mid-thought. Ianto had backed up the data, but hadn't helped her reload it. Jack had helped her set up the site here when they'd decided together that Cardiff was home and Torchwood belonged here. She couldn't recall what Ianto had been doing at the time. Perhaps he'd been in Glasgow, sorting out the records. He certainly hadn't been here, because they'd barely written anything down for months, so busy with cases, and he'd always insisted on the reports. Holdover from Torchwood London, he'd said.

Their records at the time of Freda's wedding said nothing about a missing child. The closest thing she found was a police report in Albert's files, a little boy who looked a bit like Steven. The cases she did find confused her more. She remembered some details. She remembered some faces. But everything was murky, like a play she'd seen rather than events she'd experienced personally.

She found a reference to an unusual case in America, and Jack had written a note to consult Rex. Gwen had to spend more than a minute trying to recall what he'd looked like, and came up with only a patchy visual. Worried, she pulled up what records they had on their impromptu team back then, and found herself looking at faces she wouldn't recognise if she saw them in a crowd now.

She found her father's file.

By the time Jack came in, his own features drawn in worry, she knew.

"Where's Ianto?"

"In the front office." Jack made his way to the coffee maker, and looked as though he might try to convince Ianto to come join them. Instead, he started the process himself. "I went to see Mopolite. He's giving us one week to deal with the Bugs ourselves before the Machine comes in after them."

"What's he going to do?"

"Make our lives difficult. I need to talk to the Boss today." The hot sputter of the coffee machine sent identical shivers through them. Perhaps they all did have a tiny addiction.

Gwen set the wedding invitation on the small prep table beside him, and saw him glance without comment.

"Jack, I need to ask you something."

"Sure."

Gwen tapped her leg nervously. "When did you Retcon me?"

Jack blinked at her over his mug, which he'd just spooned a bit of sugar into. "What?"

"My memories are all out of joint. I can't remember Freda's wedding. I barely remember what happened to my father. So I want to know. When did you give me Retcon, and how much of my life did you remove?"

Her voice was trembling by the end. She hadn't thought she would feel so betrayed, but as the enormity of her loss hit her, so did the rage. How much had she forgotten?

Jack set the mug down and stepped away from the coffee maker. Concerned, he asked, "Do you know what today is? Did it happen this week? I don't know who gave you Retcon, but we can find out."

"No. It's a whole span of time, Jack. I can remember bits, but it's like trying to remember the boy's name who sat behind me in school. Unless I try hard, I can't remember Vera's name. What happened to me?"

He held out his hand. She backed away. "Gwen, it's not what you think."

"It is. Somehow, you took away my memories. I can't remember half of when Anwen was a baby. I will never get that time back with her. Why did you do it?" She was shouting now, and she didn't care.

Jack watched her, but he didn't approach. "Gwen, I need you to listen to me. This isn't the first time we've had this conversation. I don't think you're going to remember this one, either. The Doctor reset time, more than once. Certain things that happened stopped having happened. You've got both sets of memories, but the current timeline is stronger. Try to remember."

The timeline. Jack telling her. She thought. Yes.

"You told me this before."

"Yes."

"Why can't I remember?"

He did approach her this time, and he took her hands. "Because it stopped being real. It's all right. You'll remember for a while, and it will go away again."

The memories trickled in around the edges, now they'd been unstoppered again. The missing child. He hadn't looked like Steven, that had been Steven they'd been looking for. He'd been lost, and …

Gwen stared at him. "Steven was dead. Ianto was dead."

Jack smiled, and it was the sad, broken smile she remembered from those bad days. "Yeah."

"They came back. And I … Oh God."

"You didn't know it was him. None of us did."

"You knew," Gwen said. At the end, just before the magic trick making the pair visible again, Jack had known the man they had in custody, the man Gwen had thought was threatening Martha. She wondered, then and now if, across space and time and death and wearing a face she couldn't see, she loved Rhys enough to know it was him standing before her. She wanted to believe the answer was yes.

"Don't tell him. Don't apologise. He doesn't want to know, and you won't remember you told him. All right?"

She nodded, guilt squirming away. Her gun had been heavy in her hand, and Martha's life was in danger. "I won't tell him. Jack, I don't want to forget again."

"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "You said that the last three times, too."

There was a crackle in her ear, at the same time Jack had a crackle in his. Albert's voice said, " _I'm at Pol's. Get here now._ "

***

Mrs. Pettidear had her mobile out but the buttons were confusing her again. Her granddaughter insisted she keep this blasted thing on her. She might've spent more time indicating how it worked. She kept receiving calls from a nice young man who told her that her shirts were ready, and rang off.

The young man who stood in Irene's doorway looked like a hatchet had had a baby. She'd seen him with Irene from time to time but she didn't know his name.

"Did you see what happened?" he demanded. 

"No. I heard the car pull away. Have you called 999?" She held up her mobile. "I can't get it to work."

A large SUV pulled up in front of the house, and three people poured out. Mrs. Pettidear thought they were Irene's friends. One of the men, a tall good-looking chap, said, "How is she?"

"Not good. Lois is in with her now."

Mrs. Pettidear said, "She needs an ambulance."

The woman smiled sadly. "She can't go to hospital. She's … "

"… allergic," said the second man. "Can't be around penicillin or latex."

And that was odd. Irene was a doctor, wasn't she? Before Mrs. Pettidear could ask, the four of them hurried into the flat, and the door shut tight. She stared down at her mobile again. Useless thing.

***

Lois followed Dr. Pol's mumbled instructions as best she could. She'd got extra towels to clean up the blood, and helped prod for broken bones. She found one of Dr. Pol's teeth on the floor, and swallowed her own cry, and swept it up with the rest of the mess. Albert was outside controlling the situation with Dr. Pol's neighbours. She wished he would swap with her.

"Can you sit up?"

"I think I might." With an effort, Lois helped her to the sofa, mindful of injuries they had yet to discover. "Thank you."

"Would some water help?"

"Not now. I need to think." Her eyes closed. Lois worried that she'd fall unconscious again, that she had brain injuries, that she would die here, now, in her flat with Lois helpless beside her. She heard a car door slam outside, and Jack's voice.

"Everyone's here now," she told Dr. Pol in a soothing tone. "We'll send for Dr. Smith. She'll know what to do."

Dr. Pol smiled grimly, showing sickly orange blood in her mouth. "I know what to do."

The door came open, and the rest of the team piled in. Jack knelt beside the couch. "Hey, Polly."

"Jack, if I find out those bastards tried to kill me in order to send you a message, I am going to break your legs." The sentence cost her. Her breathing went shallow. Lois hated this, hated having to wonder if her friend was about to die.

"Did you see who they were?"

She lay still. Finally, she said, "No. They were bundled against the cold. They may have been wearing perception filters. I couldn't see them properly." She held up her hand. "But I collected evidence, and I can identify one of them in a line-up. He'll be the one without eyes."

Albert said, "I collected samples from her. Permission to go analyse them?"

"Go," said Gwen, before Jack could reply. Albert nodded and was out the door like a shot.

"He was checking in on me," Dr. Pol said. "To see how my hangover was."

Jack asked, "Was it a good party?"

"The best."

Lois stepped back from the conversation, and noticed Ianto had grabbed the broom from where she'd set it. He tilted his head at her, and together they finished straightening up the mess while Jack talked to Pol, trying to see if she remembered anything about her assailants that would be helpful.

"It's got to be the Bugs," said Gwen, worry on her face. "Mopolite said he's staying away from Cardiff this week."

"Or he lied," said Jack flatly.

Lois's mobile pinged. "Albert says he passed the police and ambulance on his way. They're coming."

"I can't go to hospital," Pol said with a cough.

Jack stood. "Do you want to stay at the Hub, or with one of us? You can't stay here, and we have to go now."

"Hub."

For a moment, Lois was sure she wanted to say something else, but the sirens were in the distance. She glanced at their clean-up; it would have to do.

"Can you walk?" Jack asked her, helping her up.

"I don't think so."

Gwen said, "I'll bring the car to the back. They shouldn't see us carrying her out."

"Right. Lois, kindly tell the authorities when they arrive that this is a Torchwood matter. Ianto?"

Ianto was already there, catching Dr. Pol on the other side. The two of them lifted her as gently as they could and made their way to the back of the flat, as Gwen darted to get the car. Lois put on her professional face, and reminded herself to pack a bag for Pol as soon as she finished with the police.

***

The Bugs hadn't mastered the 'organised' part of 'organised crime' as yet. They kept the lid on the local aliens, finding them jobs with other aliens, moving merchandise, and making sure none of theirs ran afoul of the human authorities. Extraterrestrials and their Earth-born offspring were massively outnumbered. Every time the Daleks came, or the Sontarans, or the Cybermen, the resident aliens went underground and hoped the humans didn't start coming after them. For Jack, turning a blind eye to the somewhat law-abiding group meant less paperwork and overall a slightly safer city. Sometimes he had to lean on them. Sometimes someone overreached. But the arrangement worked, most days.

The Boss Bug was a matter of temporary assignment. The Hive currently in control of the other species had a shared mind. When one member was necessary to deal with someone, one of the Hive broke off and took on the role. If a Boss Bug was killed, another from the Hive took its place without a second thought. Efficient, Jack thought. Also annoying. He never knew if he was dealing with the same Bug.

The Bug sitting across from him now looked exactly like the last three Bosses, except Jack knew all three prior were dead. Mopolite's gang meant business.

"A week for what?" the Boss asked.

"He wants us to clean you out ourselves. Not really my style."

"Isn't it? Torchwood have hounded our people for decades."

Jack held its gaze, or what he was pretty sure were the active eyes this time. "That's in the past. You know I've left your people alone as long as they follow the rules."

"Your rules."

"Yeah, my rules. My planet."

The Bug chuckled. "Is that so? I was born here, Captain. My parents were hatched in Welsh soil." He extended a claw at the heavies in the room. One of them, he noticed, was Freda's husband. "They were born here. You were not. This is our world more than yours, and here you come, dictating to us how we should act."

"I've lived here longer than you, and I spent two thousand years in Welsh soil. We can argue all day about who belongs here. I don't intend to see you go. But as a friend, I wanted to warn you. Mopolite is giving you a few days. Don't let your guard down. When he comes in, he wants blood."

"And will you stand to protect us, Captain? Many of us are citizens. We pay taxes." The Boss enunciated the last word like a dark spell. "They are invaders. We will protect our own."

"Then you'll be slaughtered. He's given you a week. Spend it negotiating peace, or moving."

The Bug stood, two and a half metres of fury. "Mopolite will not have peace! We meet with him, and come home to find our young murdered, three times the fool for trusting his word!"

Jack got to his own feet. "I'm sorry for that. But it's a sign you need to barter, or the rest of your young will die, too."

"Go."

Jack turned to the door.

The Boss said, "Protect your own young, Captain, and we will protect ours."

***

Rhys greeted Gwen with her dinner when she finally wandered in and collapsed in a heap at the table. He didn't ask how bad her day had been, nor how long. He'd learned. Instead, he said, "She's awake if you want to see her."

"Thanks, I will." But she placed her head on her arms and ignored the food.

"Do you want to talk about it?" This was another thing he'd learned over the years.

"Dr. Pol was attacked in her home. We don't know why. Albert said the DNA was human, but that only means someone human is on the payroll."

Rhys liked Dr. Pol. She was on the round and jolly side, and had a great sense of humour for an alien from planet whatever. "Is she going to be okay?"

"We think so. Jack says Martha can't come help her, though." Her face went lost. "Rhys, would you hate me if I told you we might have to go into hiding again?"

He sat at the table but he stared in the direction of Anwen's bedroom. "Right now?"

"There's a war heating up between the two big alien gangs. My friend was nearly killed today, and I think it might be because of it."

"But she's an alien. Why'd they want to mess with her?"

"She's an alien working for Torchwood. That makes her a traitor to both sides." Gwen picked up her fork and twirled it instead of eating. "The more we try to help, the more we become targets ourselves. I don't want you and Anwen in danger because of me all over again."

"Then quit this business and take up sewing."

She shot him a look, but he stared back. "You know I won't."

"Of course I know you won't, love. So let's figure out what we're going to do this time."

She offered a tight smile back. "All right."

"By the way, did you sort out that thing this morning?"

"This morning?" She sighed. "Rhys, if the past is another country, this morning is at least a few streets away. Remind me, yeah?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. You said you were going in to look into something."

She frowned, then speared some vegetables onto her fork. "I probably did. I don't recall. Must not have been important."

***

Jack called Alice. She answered with, "What do you want?"

"Hello, Alice."

"Do not 'hello' me."

He backed down. Part of her would never, ever forgive him for what had happened. There was no point in telling her that most of him would never forgive himself, either. "I think it would be a good time for you and Steven to take a holiday."

Suspicion radiated like heat from the receiver. "What for?"

"Just for safety's sake. Take a trip. Come back in two weeks."

"He has school. If we went into hiding every time you did something stupid, we'd have to move every day. What did you do?"

"Nothing. I had a talk with someone today who made a threat. They could have been blowing smoke, or not, and I don't want to risk it. I don't want to risk you." He hoped he didn't have to add the 'again.' He knew he didn't have to remind her of the one time he couldn't protect her.

"Then stop them." Her tone was simple, flat. Despite everything, she still believed her father could fix anything. He'd even brought her son back from the dead.

"I'll do what I can."

"Dad?" Her voice had changed, was more ragged at the edge.

He switched gears instantly. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking about the timeline. The Doctor broke it, and brought back Steven by accident."

He'd done much more than that. Jack took note of jagged pieces resetting themselves each day. "More or less, yes."

"What will happen if he gets it into his head to fix things?" She took a hard breath. "Will he ... will they all just vanish? What happens to us if time is reset again?" She was nearly sobbing.

Speaking of extra horrors he didn't want tonight. Because he wasn't sure. The timeline had been reset half a dozen times or more. Jack himself had wiped out one timeline by killing that damn Paradox Device choking the poor TARDIS. Should the Doctor's mishaps reset things again, should he resolder the old pieces back into place, Jack could very well turn around one day to discover another hand in his had slipped away and was gone forever, would find an empty bedroom in Alice's house and an ache that would never end.

"I don't know. But if he does fix time and take them away from us, I swear I will do everything in my power to break it again. All right?"

There was a long pause, and he heard Steven running into the room, oblivious to his mother's fears. "All right. Goodbye, Dad." The line hummed.

***  
February 10th  
***

Lois woke with a crick in her neck. She'd offered to spend the first night with Dr. Pol, and she'd slept on the little camp bed they kept for overnights. Terrible, creaky thing. How anyone got sleep on that contraption, she'd never know.

Yawning, she padded over to the doctor. "Good morning, time to check your head."

"Bugger off," said Dr. Pol, with more amiability than anger. "I was sleeping."

"And now you're awake. How many fingers?"

Dr. Pol managed to raise her right hand. "Two."

"Naughty."

"Let me sleep."

Lois brought her a glass of water and two tablets. "You said you should take these every four hours. It's been four hours."

"Never trust a doctor's word." Pol took the tablets and the water. "When is Dr. Smith coming?"

"She's not." Lois resisted the urge to brush Pol's head. It would be annoying rather than soothing. "Jack says the Smiths are leaving the country."

"Ah. Don't want to be here for the war?"

"He didn't say. What would Dr. Smith have told you?"

"Sleep. Heal." Pol sighed. "X-rays. Blood work to ensure there were no toxins introduced. An MRI to check for soft tissue damage."

"We can do that."

"No, you can't." She turned her head away on the pillow. "Albert said they were human."

Lois nodded. "That's what the DNA said. He's running another scan right now to see if he can find out who."

"Did you know, I have spent the last twenty years of my life working as a doctor on this planet. I have cared for thousands of human patients. I've delivered babies, and healed coughs, and sat with the dead. I never got on with the aliens here. None of my people, none of my problem. You humans were enough for me." She sounded so sad.

Lois took her hand and squeezed, mindful of the wounds. "You're an amazing doctor." For all her protests, Lois knew very well any injured alien who dragged itself to Pol's door had found plasters and a warm smile, and she'd personally delivered a third of the alien infants born in Cardiff over the last few years.

"It doesn't matter. The moment I walked through a hospital door as a patient, I'd be an alien. A monster. Something to be studied or killed." She coughed.

"Jack wouldn't let that happen. None of us would."

"Wait and see. The aliens are fighting. The aliens are dying. When the humans start dying, all the aliens will look alike to you." She coughed again. "I can't even let the humans I live with know about me. They don't mind if I tend Mrs. Pettidear's bad leg or Mr. Clarence's gout. But tell them I'm not from Earth, and they'll be the first to stone me to death. You'll see."

Lois chewed at her lip. She could argue. She could point out she knew exactly how it felt for people to look at her and think she didn't belong there. She could tell stories of having to correct people over and over on her surname, and pretend she didn't hear them say she ought to go back. Back where, they didn't say, and she'd have to point out she was born and raised in Highbury.

But she also recognised a good snit, and a sad day, and it wasn't worth telling her now. Perhaps next week, or next month. They'd go for drinks, and talk.

"Get some rest."

***

Ianto had a lead on an item he wanted very badly from the old Hub. He hadn't even let himself consider most of their possessions were still intact. After the blast, much of what hadn't blown up had flooded. Still, piece after piece showed up in private hands. His friend Jessamyn at the paper put him onto the more unusual stories; her colleague David Brigstocke from the radio hounded him when he found out about the leads. Ianto ought to put Brigstocke onto Miss Valentine and let him break the story of a real, live telepath.

Jessamyn had interviewed the nice elderly gentleman whose owned the house where Ianto now sat. A war veteran, doddering and tired, Mr. Edson insisted on tea and cake before he'd even allow Ianto to speak.

Ianto carefully kept his gaze off his prize. "So you see, it's a rare piece, and I'd like to acquire it for my shop." He presented Mr. Edson with a business card. "I can offer you quite a sum of money. Two hundred pounds."

"Thanks," said the old pensioner, handing back the card. "But our Ainsley gave us that. She found it, special. Wouldn't want to hurt her feelings."

Ianto smiled kindly. "I understand, of course. But you see, and I hadn't wanted to mention, but I have a buyer who saw the piece in the article, and they dearly would love to add it to their collection. I can go up on the offer. Shall we say, two fifty?"

Edson looked pained. "Our Ainsley wouldn't like it." He made a sly face, and Ianto got a sinking feeling. "The lady on the phone offered us four hundred."

"Did the lady give you her name?"

"She might've." Edson wasn't budging. "I told her no."

If it was bloody Firestone again, all the man had done was guarantee a robbery. Ianto cursed inwardly but kept up his smile. "I can see you're devoted to your family, sir. My buyer is offering me five hundred pounds. However, they're the best client I have, and for you, just this once, I will dig into my own pocket. Six hundred for the piece, today. You won't get a better offer from anyone, and you can buy Ainsley anything she wants."

Edson took a loud slurp of his tea. "Mr. Jones, you have a deal."

Ianto counted out the money carefully, and a touch forlorn. He'd just spent next week's budget on a single artefact. He needed to raise his own operating capital, or resort to theft himself. The acquisition was worth every pound, though, and more.

"May I?" he asked, as Edson recounted the money. Edson nodded, and at last, Ianto turned to his prize, wrapping it with all due care in layers of cloths and putting the whole into a sturdy box.

"Thank you," he said, shaking the old man's hand. "You've made a good deal here."

As he walked Ianto to the door, Edson appeared doubtful. "I don't know why you want it. S'just a bit of coral."

***

Gwen took the early evening shift to help with poor Dr. Pol, and brought Anwen to play under what she hoped would be a close eye. Rhys was occupied with work, and they had no sitter.

Dr. Pol clucked disapprovingly, even as she reached out to snuggle "my favourite girl." Anwen giggled, and played a bit with the plasters until Gwen took her off Pol's hands. "None of that, now."

"Jack won't like it that she's been here."

"Jack can take it up with me," said Gwen firmly. "She's safe here."

"Nowhere is safe," Pol said, and rolled over with some effort. Gwen kept an eye on her, kept an eye on Anwen, and went through some of her files. She noticed a snap at her work station. Freda Evans. She'd just been to see her the other day, and that was her man with her. She flipped the card over. Old wedding invitation. Something nibbled at her thoughts.

Anwen giggled, and Gwen lost the thought, absently dropping the snap into a folder marked _Miscellaneous._ "What did you find, love?"

"I believe the horses are having a party with the army men," said Pol, half-asleep.

"Anna birds," Anwen said. The Angry Birds had become a steady fixture of her imagination play. Rhys said it was a sign her brain was developing normally. Gwen said he shouldn't have let her play on his mobile.

"I'll be fine, you know," Pol said through a yawn. "I'm not going to expire without someone here fluffing my pillows. I can wait until Albert comes in at midnight if you want to take this dear thing home."

"You take such good care of us, it's our turn to take care of you."

"Gwen, dearest, if I asked you for some soup right now, you'd burn down the Hub."

Gwen laughed in her sudden shock and mild outrage. "I would do no such thing!" She saw the disbelief in the doctor's eyes, and relented. "I'd get takeaway."

She'd brought takeaway to Freda's this afternoon. They'd fallen out of touch, and Gwen felt guilty. She'd meant to keep track of the girl. Woman, now, Gwen reminded herself. Her husband had been out. "At work," Freda had said around the hot chips she stuffed in her mouth. Always half-starved, that one.

"Jack said he saw Slaus with the Boss Bug. He's not mixed up in that gangs business, is he?"

Freda had gone cagey then, not answering questions. She was fine, thank you for the food, so sad you can't stay. Gwen took the hint, but said at the doorstep, "We can help you. Really, don't get involved in the gangs. That's dangerous business. I can get you a job in a shop somewhere. Your man, too."

"Thanks for your interest," Freda had said, but her eyes had been sad and wary, and asked where Gwen had been when that might have been helpful.

In the here and now, Anwen yawned. Gwen lifted her up and cuddled her. She couldn't fix the mistakes she'd made before. She could only try to do better going forward.

***  
February 11th  
***

None of Ianto's searches for the day panned out. Firestone had been there weeks before for the first ping, and the second 'artefact' was nothing but a souvenir from Gibraltar. Jack dragged him out for lunch and to look at cars. Which was, Ianto thought as his sulk faded, not a bad way to spend time together, especially when Jack panted almost as much over the 1971 Aston Martin Lagonda Limited (5.34 litre V8) as he did over the cute sales clerk. Neither had any chance of coming home with them, but the prospect of both made for a quick but frisky stop on their way back to work. No getting off now, but definitely a nice promise for later.

Jack slung his arm over Ianto as they drove their far less sexy car towards the new Hub. "We should go car shopping more often."

"I need a car. Something reliable."

"With a large back seat."

"Obviously."

Jack slouched. "The nicest car I ever owned was a 1930 Alfa Romeo. No back seat, but boy, that baby could handle."

"I'm picturing you with the driving goggles and scarf."

"But I look good in them, don't I?"

Ianto swore inside his head, because yes, even fantasy Jack in the stupid driving get-up was sex on a stick.

"Tell you what," said Jack. "I'll dress up in that for you later. Just the goggles, the scarf, and the driving gloves."

Between that, and the aborted make-out session, Ianto knew his trousers were going to be uncomfortable for the next hour. "You did that on purpose." Not only would he be frustrated now, they'd each chosen a different shift tonight to look after Dr. Pol.

Jack winked, and held his hand as they walked from the car park to the door. Perhaps the anticipation wouldn't be so tedious.

Ianto's good mood lasted until his mobile rang some hours later. "Hi."

Steven said, "Hi."

"How's your day going?" Ianto kept his tone upbeat, but worried. Steven didn't call often these days. Ianto made a point of calling him almost every day, and that seemed to be enough. When Steven didn't respond, Ianto's worry grew. "Is everything all right?"

"Mum's not here."

Ianto went to say something trite, but he stopped himself in time. Steven was clearly upset. He glanced at the time, and noticed it was past six. Alice was home by five at the latest. "Did she call?"

"No. I tried phoning her." His fear trembled in his voice.

"All right. I'll try phoning her right now, and I'll call you back. Stay in the house, all right?"

"All right."

He rang off and dialled Alice's number. It went to voicemail all three times he tried. He rang Steven again. "Maybe her phone isn't working. Look, I'm done here. I'll get in the car and come to yours, and we can wait together, all right?"

"All right."

"Just stay there. Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Eat something. Cereal. A sandwich. Don't use the hob. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He ran into the Hub proper and went into Jack's office without knocking. Jack looked up from a report. "What now?"

For half a second, Ianto didn't want to tell him, but delaying the news wouldn't make the words easier. "Alice hasn't come home."

***


	3. Chapter 3

Jack's reckless disregard of the speeding laws was legendary, and in the Torchwood official vehicle, passably legal. They arrived in record time, even for Jack. Ianto was at the door first, taking a breath before he knocked. The dog went off, barking like mad. He shouted through the door, "Shut it!" Upon recognising his voice, the dog went madder still. By the time Steven had the door unlocked, Dribble was chasing her own tail in excitement, and then tried to bowl Jack over with affection as the pair of them hurried inside.

Ianto took in the room, but nothing seemed amiss. Steven's homework was out on the table. In a calm voice, he said, "Let's go over this while I'm here, yeah?"

"Sure."

They'd taken turns on the phone with him for most of the trip. Ianto was better at chatting about small details of Steven's day, asking after his friends. Jack kept trying to ask about Alice, for obvious reasons, but Ianto didn't want to make Steven more upset. The last time Alice had been abducted, everything in all their lives had gone to hell.

"She might just be late getting home," he reassured Steven, checking his maths homework as Jack investigated the house.

Steven said, "She's not." He kept his own voice calm, but Ianto wasn't fooled.

"Is your dad still out of the country?"

"For two more weeks. He and Petra are having their second honeymoon." His eyes darted away, and he played with his pencil.

"Are they?"

"Petra's going to have a baby. They're travelling to enjoy the time they have before it's born. I'm not supposed to know."

"Well, that's exciting news," Ianto said. Joe couldn't remember Steven's death. He also couldn't remember Steven was twelve, not four, and that he paid attention to conversations around him.

Jack stopped his search. "You didn't tell your mother that, did you?"

Ianto followed his thought; if Alice knew her ex and his new wife were expecting, she might have taken it badly and needed time to go think. But Steven shook his head. "She'd just get sad. Mum's already sad Dad replaced her. She won't like finding out he's replacing me, too."

"Hey," Jack said, taking a chair at the table with them. "That's not what's going on. You're going to be a big brother. That's an important job." He managed not to sound the way he usually did when he reminded himself of Gray, even putting on a genial smile.

"No, it's all right," Steven said, putting his school books away into his satchel. "Dad and Petra can have a new baby, and Mum has me." He clicked his pack closed and looked at his grandfather. "Where is she?" The calm cracked.

"We'll find her," Jack said.

Ianto wondered who he was convincing. He came to a decision. "Steven, I'd like you to pack some of your clothes. You'll come stay at ours whilst we look for your mum."

Steven looked at both of them, and saw Jack's nod. "Okay." He scampered upstairs to pack. He'd once again outgrown the clothes he left at their flat, and Ianto ought to take him shopping for more. He also needed to contact the school and let them know Steven would be out for a few days. He could ask Alice's neighbours to watch the dog. Ianto began jotting down a quick list. Action items kept him sane. God alone knew what he would do, what Jack would do, if the worst had happened.

As soon as Steven's door shut, Jack said, "Your first priority is to watch him. The second you believe either of you is in any danger, I want you both on a train out of Cardiff. I trust you to keep him safe."

"He's safest with both of us." 

Jack gazed up the staircase. "I don't know if that's true right now."

***

They reconvened at the Hub. Gwen thought Dr. Pol was already looking healthier, the colour restoring to her cheeks despite the bruising. "What's this about, Jack?"

"I need all of you on this," he said, face drawn in an icy stolidity. "Alice is missing. The Boss Bug made a threat the other day. I'm about to go pay it a visit. I need the rest of you to search every database and camera you can. Find out where she's been taken."

"We need to call in the police," Gwen said, as reasonably as she could in the face of Jack's meltdown. If it was her child, she'd be going mad. Just the thought sent her pulse shooting, and her mind scrabbled at her with horrible implication.

Albert said, "And tell them she's been abducted by aliens?"

Jack said, "No. Albert's right. The public has a problem remembering aliens exist."

"Andy remembers. They're not stupid."

"I can't risk it now. Off the table." Jack cut the air with his hand. "I'm going to talk. Do what you can."

"I'm going with you," Albert said. "You might need backup."

Gwen said, "So am I."

Jack glanced between the two of them. "Albert, with me. Gwen, I want you here. Lois, help her. Polly … "

"Don't give me any damn orders. Go."

Gwen went to her workstation and began her usual search routines. She could have the cameras in Alice's area under her command in less than a minute. Lois came to her elbow. Jack was out of the building already. Even so, Lois whispered, "Do you think she's still alive?"

"She'd better be," said Pol from where she rested. "He was bad enough last time."

"Last time what?" asked Lois, mystified.

Gwen shrugged. "Did she disappear before?"

Pol looked at them both, and said something under her breath. It sounded a bit like, "Humans." Then she sighed. "Lois, be a dear and bring me a tablet. I've got some ideas."

***

"Where is she?" Jack's fists hit the table which served as the Boss Bug's desk. The bodyguards had put up exactly as much objection as they could when faced with a man who couldn't die. Albert might be in more danger than he thought, but Jack wouldn't let himself worry.

The Boss Bug refused to be cowed. "She who?"

"Alice. You threatened me two days ago, and now she's missing. For your sake, she had better be completely fine, or I swear I will burn your hive to the ground myself."

"Strong words. No meaning. We don't know the woman you speak of."

Jack growled. "Two days ago, you told me to watch my young. My child is gone. Ring any bells?"

The Bug stared at him. "No."

"I swear … "

"Captain, we promise you we did not take your offspring. We have no quarrel with you. Mopolite hates you, and hates us. If any took your child, look to his," the Bug sputtered into a broken language even Jack didn't speak.

"No distracting. Mopolite wasn't the one who threatened her."

"What does that mean? Only that he wants us to quarrel."

"TELL ME!"

The Bug made a gesture, and Jack recognised the motion: regret, shared sorrow, grief for a friend. "Ask him. If you have faith in gods, ask them as well."

***

Alice's head ached. Her vision swam in front of her like water, and only gradually cleared. She was in a small cell. The room was clean, without the smell of old urine and regret she normally associated with prisons. She lay on a thin mattress with clean sheets and a small, firm pillow. She saw a steel sink and a steel toilet. By the closed door, a small tray sat with a covered lump which smelled mouth-wateringly of roast.

As she sat up, she fought the terror growing in her throat. Wherever she was, her captors, and she had to assume captors if she assumed cell, held her in decent conditions. They wanted her alive.

She tried to focus her memory. She'd left work and driven towards home. She'd stopped at a light, and someone had approached her car. She'd met the person's eyes, and her heart had stopped at the face from her nightmares.

A grill opened on the door. "Hello, Mrs. Carter," said Agent Johnson.

***  
February 12th  
***

Jack hadn't come home. He'd checked in via text, which meant he was currently alive and didn't want to answer questions on what leads he was following. Ianto traced his mobile's GPS to London and back. A meeting with Mopolite, then, and not productive.

Dragging himself up from two hours of sleep, Ianto fixed breakfast for himself and Steven, who came into the sitting room with his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. Rather than insist on the table, Ianto spooned their porridge into bowls and handed one to Steven on the sofa.

"Jack will find her," Ianto said reassuringly. "He's been out all night."

Steven said nothing. He ate his porridge and stared out the window.

Ianto said, "After you've eaten and washed, we'll do some shopping. Get you some clothes, pick up food. You and I can cook together tonight."

"If Mum doesn't come back, can I live here with you?"

The question ought not have surprised him. Ianto set down his bowl, made Steven set down his bowl, and waited until the child looked him full in the face. "Steven, we are going to find your mother."

"Not alive. Maybe." He was holding himself together, barely. "The last time she was taken ... " Tears he wouldn't admit to moistened his eyes.

"I know."

"If she's dead, I want to stay here."

The thing was, of course Alice might be dead. They were dealing with monsters, literally, and any one of them could have murdered Alice in retaliation for Jack's past wrongs. Ianto and Steven were both witness to that path. Steven wasn't stupid, and he wasn't little. He was the closest Ianto would ever have to a son of his own, and he was growing older every day. Innocence had passed a long time ago.

"I promise we will do everything in our power to bring her home safe. You know Jack will tear the world apart to find her if he must." He took Steven's hands. "But if the worst happens, you will almost certainly go live with your dad and Petra. And I will call you every day, and come visit you every weekend, and when you're old enough to decide where you can go, you will always be welcome here. You always have a home with us. And if Jack buggers off and leaves the planet again, you will always have a home with me. No matter what, no matter when. Okay?"

Steven nodded, and the threatened tears began to roll down his face. Ianto bent to reach the box of tissues and handed him one.

"But we will find your mum. I swear."

***

"I have questions for you," said Agent Johnson. She'd opened the cell door and gestured to someone outside to lock her in. This did not comfort Alice in any fashion. While she believed herself capable of killing another human if necessary, she had no means, and the woman standing in front of her had obvious military training and no scruples.

"Let me go," she said, without hope.

"September 2009. Tell me what you remember."

Alice stared at her. She remembered everything. She didn't want to. The rest of the damned world had been allowed to forget that awful week. She remembered screaming. She remembered her baby's face as he bled. She remembered this monster she'd briefly trusted. And she had to make herself remember, because Steven's life depended on her knowing what had happened to him. She had to remind herself every day of his death just to keep him tethered here and alive.

"I don't recall."

Johnson frowned. "Don't you? Did you know your son has a death certificate on file for September 11th, 2009?"

She did. She'd looked at the paper once, and she'd set it face-down on the desk in front of her, and she'd cried and cried. "No."

"You're a terrible liar, Mrs. Carter."

"Why am I here?"

Johnson sat down on the floor in a crouch. Her face was wrong. Now that Alice paid attention to her features, little tics and motions cascaded over her skin and were gone. The woman in the cell with her was mad. Fantastic.

"I remember the day your son died. I remember the room, and the signal into the stars. I remember you. I can't stop remembering you, remembering him. I shot a man in the leg that day. I can remember the feel of my gun as it discharged. I remember.

"But I also remember that same day, that same time, being out on a mission. A small terrorist cell was operating in Edmonton, planning on setting a bomb on the Underground. We stormed their hideaway. I shot two of them, one in the shoulder and one in the foot. I can remember the feel of my gun. _I remember_."

Johnson's head twitched. "The others don't remember. They think you're here because we have information you're involved in some gang-related killings between Cardiff and Lewisham. I think they're aliens."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Johnson edged closer. "I dream about you. You were there. We spoke several times. Your son died, and now he's alive."

Alice let her panic set in. "Let me see him."

"He isn't here. I didn't need him."

"You don't need me for anything!"

Johnson got to her feet. "I need to know what you remember. I need to know you remember the same things I do. Tell me what you know."

Alice stayed seated on the small bed. She didn't reply.

Johnson turned and knocked twice at the door. "You'll be fed. You'll be comfortable. You're not leaving until you tell me what you know."

The door opened, and any thought Alice had of escaping was stopped by the sight of the armed guards outside. The cell door slammed.

As soon as the footsteps echoed down the hall and away, she rested her face in her hands.

***

Lois was on her sixth cup of coffee, and felt it. Torchwood meant going without sleep, and according to Gwen, many a week in the old days had been spent fuelled by nothing more than desperation and Ianto's industrial blend. Ianto said Gwen exaggerated about that, although he still refused to give Lois the final two ingredients of his secret brew.

She realised she'd been staring at her cup for over a minute, and quickly set it down. Gwen had gone home for a few hours. Lois ought to do the same.

Dr. Pol said, "Lois, as your physician, I order you to lie down for a quick kip. No falling over."

She smiled. "Pity there's someone in the spare bed right now."

Dr. Pol clucked. "Don't say that in front of Jack. You know what he'd say."

"Suggest we share it." She yawned. "Actually, budge up." Pol laughed but scooted a bit to make some space. Lois nestled, a bit uncomfortably, in the warm spot next to her. This was more awkward than she'd thought.

Pol said, "I should be getting up. Back on my feet can only do me good."

Lois made a quiet noise. Sleep really did sound nice. "Take your time to rest. We don't get much rest here." She closed her eyes, then let them drift open. At this angle, the Hub looked askew, strange and magical. Odd shapes caught her eyes. "What's that?" She couldn't make out what the lumpy brown package was from here.

Pol followed her arm. "I'm not certain. Ianto brought it in the other day. Said he acquired it before those horrid Firestone people could. It's been singing to me."

"Singing?" If she closed her eyes again (and wasn't that a tempting thought?) she could almost make out what Pol meant. Not quite music, not quite words, but very soothing. Whatever was inside the package, it made her feel good. "Probably toxic. Going to kill us all."

"Could be. Nice, though."

"Yeah."

She awoke with a start sometime later. The Hub had no windows, and no way to tell the time of day. She heard two people talking at the same moment she noticed she was alone on the camp bed.

Albert said, "I don't have a name, but I've got faces."

Pol's tired voice replied, "I don't recall faces. But I'll look, if that makes you happy."

They were supposed to be looking for Alice, though it sounded as though Albert was still following the leads on Pol's attackers. He was sweet on her, not in a romantic way but in the way he'd love a maiden aunt who might not quite be a maiden. They all fit together in this strange, broken little family Jack kept rebuilding from the ashes of families long gone. When she was gone, and Albert and Pol, and even Jack's two favourites, he'd go on and create a new team on their graves.

Lois wondered if she'd be strong enough to walk away before that.

Pol said, "Him."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be. You said the other was recently blinded?"

"That's what the hospital records say."

She paused for a long moment. "Good."

***

Ianto made a list of groceries and personal items, and added to his list a note to look at flats. He and Jack had chosen this one together, leaving Jack's sterile, quickly-chosen and unloved flat in exchange for a larger unit which fit their tastes and had a second bedroom for Steven's visits. All of his own personal possessions had been donated or lost, and most of Jack's had burned. Living together meant finding out what the other really wanted in a table, and a desk, and a sofa. (As it turned out, the primary concern was "hard-wearing and able to hold both of them without breaking." No surprise there.) That lamp was their lamp. This cushion was their cushion. The whole situation was sickeningly domestic. Ianto didn't mind at all.

But Jack had entrusted him with Steven's safety, and his own. Bolt holes were mandatory, and backup residences never hurt. They all had several sets each of false identities. Signing a short lease would be simple. A change of clothes left at each wouldn't hurt.

"I like this one," Steven said at the second shop, holding up a shirt that looked very much like the rest of the shirts.

"Not much style," Ianto said, placing it in the trolley. "Why not something like that?" He nodded at a display of t-shirts with animated characters all on.

"Not those. Those are for babies."

"Ah. My mistake."

"This one!" came a loud shout. Feet thundered towards the display, but it was only one set of feet, followed by two other sets walking much more slowly. Ianto's brain had registered the shout without identifying the owner. However, his sister was impossible to miss as she joined her son at the t-shirts, and she didn't miss him.

"Fine day for them," she said. He was afraid she was going to hug him, but instead she pecked a kiss on his cheek. "Say hello to your uncle."

"Hi," said David and Mica in unison, and both went back to the t-shirts, arguing over which character was the best.

"I didn't expect to see you here," said Rhi. "What're you doing?"

"Oh. Right." He nodded at Steven, who'd mostly hidden himself behind Ianto. "Steven needed clothes. He's outgrown the ones he keeps at ours."

Rhiannon craned her neck around. "Oh, hello there." She gave Ianto a look which clearly said, "Who's this?"

"Steven, you remember meeting my sister Rhiannon? She came to the hospital. That's David, and that's Mica. Who ought to be in school now, I thought."

Mica shouted, "The pipes froze and busted!" She returned to haranguing her brother over which character would annihilate the other.

Rhi said, "They're out the whole week. What about him?"

"Mum is out of town," Steven lied, watching the other two children.

"He's Jack's nephew. He's staying with us until she gets back." Ianto gestured at his niece and nephew. "You could go talk to them."

"No, thanks." He played with the sleeve of one shirt. "Besides, they're both wrong. Batman could kick everyone's arse."

Ianto wasn't sure how, but the next he knew, Rhiannon had decided the five of them would get lunch together, somewhere with tables if not with tablecloths. Steven warmed to David and Mica's five-year-long argument, throwing in his own observations about heroes Ianto didn't know. Growing up, he'd always looked askance at his friends and classmates who spent all their time nose-deep in comic books. Now that he was dating a superhero, the 2-D adventures of made-up people couldn't hold a candle.

"Where's Jack?" Rhiannon asked over her menu.

After everything, he still wasn't sure where she stood on Jack, and whether any innocent inquiry would twist into questions Ianto didn't want to answer or advice he didn't intend to take. "Work. He's busy with a project."

"He's always busy," she tutted. "He ought to take a break. You two can go somewhere nice for a change."

Ianto nearly choked on his glass of water. If there was one thing more horrifying than the thought of his sister disapproving of his relationship, that thing would be her getting involved and giving advice for same. "It's fine. We're fine. In fact," he said, placing the glass on the table, "we've been a few places together. We took a trip together to Switzerland, and one to India." He could just about think on their time on those missions without shuddering, too. Both near-death experiences had led to appropriately remorseful cuddling on Jack's part after, which was the very last item on a long list Ianto intended never to share with her. "We even took a cruise together. Rode in a submarine near Japan." Sort of near. Nearer than here. 

Steven set down his fork and stared, and David and Mica followed. "Cool."

"That was a while ago," Ianto covered quickly. "And I would've told you, but I didn't know how." He dropped in a bit of truth amongst the half-truths. "I didn't think you'd take it well if I said I've started dating a much older man, and by the by, we're off to CERN for a holiday."

"I'd've taken it fine if I could've come along," Rhi said.

"Nah. Jack snores."

She laughed, and there was the smile he remembered from long ago. "You two should come visit more often. We're not that far." She nodded at Steven. "Bring him with you."

Now there was a thought. Ianto could take Steven to hers, spend time in Newport instead of Cardiff, risk their lives once again. As a very last resort, he could leave Steven with her, have him blend in with the gaggle of children in her new neighbourhood. He wondered if she ever thought about why they'd moved, and where the money had come from. He hoped she didn't. "Maybe later."

"Can we go to the zoo?" asked Mica. Despite the cold, and the impeding snow, she was obviously gauging how much she could get out of this unexpected visit.

"It's too cold out," said her mother.

Ianto remembered his last trip to the zoo. He'd gone on a date, and went home invisible and reeking of tiger shit. He reminded himself to tell Steven later. "That's for the best."

David said, "What about the cinema?"

"Steven and I have more errands we need to run today."

***

The CCTV between Alice's work and home had been deactivated an hour before her disappearance. Lois watched Gwen try every trick she knew to pull out the data, scanning in wider and wider circles searching for anything unusual before and after, and around the blackout area. Dr. Pol had busied herself with contacting her various acquaintances in both the human and alien communities. Her skills had often come in aid of those who needed unofficial help, or couldn't set foot in a normal doctor's office.

"How are the quintuplets doing?" she asked, voice full of marmalade, "Really? Their horns are coming in earlier than I'd thought. Remind me and I'll be by next week for a check-up. Now, I've got a question for you."

Lois let them both work. Albert had disappeared, saying he had to go pay a bill. Jack didn't seem worried about him, spending all his worry on the phone right now. He'd been trading calls with the Smiths since he got in. Dr. Smith wanted to come in, do an exam on Dr. Pol and also lend a hand on their search for Alice. Jack wanted her to stay where she was, but did want a list of their contacts. Lois gathered this through the open door at which she definitely wasn't eavesdropping.

She wasn't quite sure how to think of his relationship with the couple. She was almost certain he hadn't slept with one or both of them. Dr. Smith appeared to be second only to Gwen in Jack's list of best friends for life. Her husband was one of his favourite people to rag on whenever possible, yet if he ever did marry his boyfriend, he'd almost certainly ask Mickey to stand up as his best man. The whole arrangement confused her. Her own friendships were far more straightforward. No insults, not even a friendly "you cow." No mad chemistry making everyone around her wonder if she was sleeping with her mates. No time travel or alternate timelines, either. Her own friends were drifting away, one by one, though. She'd cut her hair, and she couldn't talk about work. Dating was hard, and listening to her friends chat about the men they were seeing, and their jobs, and the kids they wanted soon, was much harder.

She let her eye fall to the floor. Speaking of kids, Anwen hadn't cleaned up all her toys when she'd come in with her mum. Lois tidied them into a bin, shoving the lot under a desk. Perhaps this was her life now, cleaning up for everyone else and never managing a life of her own. And what good would it do if she did? Anwen was being raised knowing all about aliens, and her life had been in danger several times because of it. Jack's daughter was missing due to this life. Pol had almost died.

"Fine," Jack said through the door. "We'll see you this evening."

Lois chose that moment to bring him a new coffee. "Getting visitors, are we?"

"Martha and Mickey are coming by, yeah." He glowered from losing the argument.

"Any leads?"

"A few. But Mickey wants to check them out for himself. For some reason, he thinks I won't be 'reasonable' when I talk to their friends." He made air-quotes around the word himself. "It's not my fault that every time I try to talk sense I end up getting shot at." He was, she noticed suddenly, not wearing the same shirt he'd worn this morning.

She oughtn't ask, but she did anyway. "How many times have you died this week?"

Jack took a long drink of his coffee, and didn't answer. "Tell Gwen and the rest I'm going back out. I've got more heads to knock together."

***

Alice ignored the camera in her cell as she used the toilet. She'd tried to resist, hating the thought of some faceless person, or some person with a face she knew too well, watching her have a pee. She thought about refusing to eat, refusing to cooperate. She wasn't sure where that would get her, or if she'd wind up getting herself killed before someone got her out of here. It'd probably be her father, and he'd probably expect her to be grateful. This only added to her bad mood.

Johnson waited until the flush to let herself back into the cell with Alice. She attempted a smile, which came out wrong on her face. "Do you need an extra blanket? Is the food acceptable?"

Today she was Good Cop. Alice knew where she stood with Bad Cop. Good Cop could pull out the rug at any time. "I'm fine, thank you." She'd like a book, or her mobile, or a gun.

"I'm not your enemy."

"You killed my son."

Johnson's smile became genuine. "You do remember."

"Get out."

"I need to know what you remember, Alice. Dekker wasn't human. When we treated his wounds, we discovered the blood was alien. After some persuasion, he talked." Alice didn't want to imagine what kind of persuasion she meant.

"You should know," Johnson went on, "that he arranged it all. He contacted the 456. He told them to come. His people are called the Pantheon of Discord. They can change time. He knew if he cost the Earth the lives of millions of children, he could feed on the potential energy for every fate he changed, bringing each back for a price."

Alice shuddered, and did not reply. Nothing she'd learned during her lifelong association with Torchwood suggested Johnson was lying. But Jack had stopped that future, in the worst possible way, and Dekker couldn't even come to Alice to offer her a deal she'd have gladly accepted.

"I interrogated him myself." Johnson pulled her hands into fists. "Aliens bleed like anyone else."

She stepped closer to Alice, who stepped back in response. Johnson stopped. "In training, we're taught about blood-born pathogens, how to avoid contracting Hepatitis or HIV from enemies or prisoners. I contracted time. I can remember the day your son died, and I can remember the day he didn't. No-one else recalls the first any longer. It doesn't exist. But you remember. I need to know what you know. I need to know I'm not mad."

Alice stared at her. "You're going on about aliens and alternate timelines and murdering time-travelling aliens, and you want _me_ to tell you you're sane?"

"You know what happened."

"Go away," said Alice, tired and sad. "Or let me out."

Johnson came closer. Alice wasn't sure if she would feel a strike against her chin, or if this obsessed woman was about to kiss her and force her down to the bunk. She tensed against both, closing her eyes.

When nothing happened, she opened them again. Johnson stood there, angry and immobile.

"Tell me what you know, and you'll be released."

"I suppose I have your personal promise on that, do I?"

Johnson turned, knocking at the cell door until the door opened and let her out.

***

Ianto answered an ad for a rental house in Caerphilly. He gave false credentials and two months' deposit to the manager for lodgings for his family. He was careful to refer to Steven's mother without actually calling Alice his wife, as she'd throttle him should she ever find out. Steven played along, asking plenty of questions about the local schools and other kids nearby. As they drove back, Ianto realised he hadn't driven this way since his ill-fated run-in with the Arcanis Servitorus during that business with Robert Craig. He shivered as he passed the turn-off which had nearly killed him five long, strange years ago.

They drove to Barry and rented a flat with a second set of credentials under the names Mr. and Mr. White. "My husband will be by to sign later," Ianto promised. "No, we don't have custody of Christopher. He lives with my ex, but he does visit us when he can."

As they headed back towards home, Ianto watched Steven sitting quietly in the other seat, gazing out the window. They'd fled this way once, driving to escape capture or worse. With the funds in his pocket and the clothing in the boot, they could run away now. He'd pick a place on the map, drive them to the train or the ferry, and leave the company car for Torchwood to find. The two of them could vanish together, just as Jack had asked.

"Steven?"

"Hm?"

"Would you be interested in going on a short holiday? You and me. We could drive up the coast, or take a trip to Scotland. Torchwood Glasgow has an old manor house we could visit."

Steven kept his eyes out the window. "Are we running away again?"

"We could. Jack thinks you'd be safer away from Cardiff."

There was no reply for a while. Ianto stole a glance as he drove. The clothing had been the first clue that Steven was growing again, was no longer the scared little boy he'd met in Amy Pond's kitchen. Due to the gap in their lives from death to resurrection, none of them could accurately give his age. Nevertheless, given the amount of hell this child had experienced, and everything he'd survived since, he'd grown enough to make some decisions for himself.

"I don't want to be safe. I want to be with you, and Mum, and Uncle Jack."

"All right."

Their third stop was back in Grangetown. "Two singles or one double?" asked the landlady.

"Whatever you have available is fine," Ianto said, signing his name 'Andrew Jacob.' "My brother may be by to see me. He's a bit of a rake, but don't mind him."

"No visitors, and no women," she said. "I don't want any trouble." Ianto soothed her over by putting his brother John alongside his name. "No visitors and no women," he agreed with a smile.

***

Albert had emigrated to England with his parents when he was two years old. They'd died by the time he was four, and he'd been passed from home to home without ever finding another couple to love him as their own. He'd been quiet, first by nature and then by lack of care, and had trouble connecting to his foster families. Later, much later, he realised he'd been lucky. He'd never been struck, never been touched inappropriately, never starved or hurt or neglected more than any other child in the large families he'd found himself briefly part of. He'd left the last family the day he turned sixteen, and never went back to visit.

In another life, one not too distant from the one he lived, he'd have become a criminal and died on the street. Albert had stolen more than once when times were lean, between what jobs he could pick up with no school and no connections. He was bright, and good with electronics and with weapons. He spent two years in the Army Reserves before deciding it wasn't for him, and took the extra training they'd given him into a new life of petty, nearly-victimless electronic theft with a side of breaking and entering.

Jack had almost shot him when he'd caught Albert breaking into the initial storefront he and Gwen had set up as their temporary headquarters. He would have, too, had Dr. Pol not laughed and laughed, and teased them both about the holes in their security. (Later, she told Albert how puffed up Jack had been about all the measures he'd taken. He hadn't stopped talking about how impregnable the place was but two minutes before Albert's breach.)

She'd saved his life, and had done so over and over ever since. Albert couldn't remember his mum. He'd like to think she had the same sharp sense of humour and kind spirit as Pol did.

The blind man in hospital hadn't been of much use. He didn't know the name of the person who'd paid him. He was expendable muscle, hired for cheap and handed a chip of concrete which rendered him difficult to see. Albert left him alive, and no more harmed than when he came in, but he did relieve him of the concrete chip. He knew all about perception filters, thanks.

The train station was at a lull when he arrived and bought his ticket. With the chip in his pocket, Albert passed unobserved through crowds, looking for the second face on his list. When he found one compartment with the shade drawn, he let himself inside. At the same time, he clicked the noise-dampener he'd nicked from the Hub. Ianto'd go mental when he found out Albert had taken it, but Ianto was a prat and he could fucking get over himself.

"Michael Pryce?" he asked.

The man hid his face further inside his hood. "Sorry, no." Thanks to his own filter, Albert saw him clearly.

"You visited Dr. Irene Pol at her home three days ago. You tried to kill her."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" said Pryce in a strangled voice. "If you're with the police, I have an alibi," he added, belying his first statement. He shuddered. "Anyway, whatever that thing was, it wasn't human."

Albert stepped forward, his knife clicking open. "I'm not with the police. If you tell me who hired you, this will be quick."

"I don't know! I never saw them!" wailed Pryce.

"How sad for you," said Albert.

***


	4. Chapter 4

***  
February 13th  
***

Jack dragged in at ten past four in the morning. All his leads had turned up nothing. Martha had arrived in the early evening, muttering at Jack for not telling her sooner about Pol's injuries, and spent most of the night checking her over and catching up whilst Mickey went over everything he'd uncovered, which wasn't much. Jack had offered them the night at his flat, which they'd declined in lieu of reservations at St. David's and a leisurely ride home in the morning.

"I want a spa," Martha had said. "My back is killing me."

Mickey had said, "If you need us, the reservation's under the name Horowitz. Don't need us."

Home now, and trying to be quiet, Jack took a quick shower. He ran over every small detail he had in his head again. No-one had seen Alice be taken. None of the cameras in the vicinity had picked up anything unusual. None of the local or non-local aliens, even the ones Mopolite or the Bugs thought were on their payrolls, had heard anything about a hit or a kidnapping. No ransom demands. Mickey's leads had led to nothing.

He was beginning to think he'd been wrong. She may have been taken by a human after all, unrelated to the coming war. The abduction was a professional job, or insanely lucky. The Families? Did they remember? The last time he'd phoned Rex, the other man couldn't place Jack's voice and rang off.

Shower done, he looked in on Steven, who was sound asleep, and safe, and alive. Jack resisted the urge to go in, ruffle his hair and kiss his head. Apparently, some people (okay, Alice and Ianto and Gwen as well, at which point Jack had stopped asking around for opinions) thought it was weird for Steven's naked grandfather to kiss him goodnight, and no amount of Jack's pointing out he'd run about naked half the time back when he himself was a boy would change their minds.

He slid into bed next to Ianto, who stirred. "Good evening to you. You're freezing."

"Good morning. Get closer and I can warm up."

Ianto's gaze flicked over his face, and saw the lack of news without his having to ask. He leaned in for kisses, tilting his head when Jack gratefully took him up on the offer. Sure, he had come home to sleep, but Jack had never been found wanting when there was an offer of comfort sex, or any other sex, on the table. He rolled on top of Ianto, kissing him with the same intensity they'd first shared years back, the very first time Ianto had walked into his old office in the old Hub, with the old stopwatch in his hand ticking the very last second of ten minutes counting down to something new.

Things had changed. Things always changed. They'd broken this off. Jack had died numerous times. Ianto had died twice, once to the Toclafane and once to the 456, and his ghost had sacrificed himself again. Now the impossible had occurred, pushing them back together, and Jack felt his brain stutter to a halt every time he considered ever parting from this man. The only reason Jack hadn't suggested marriage was the existence of two wives he was certain were still alive somewhere after he'd faked his death with each. Marriages ended badly for him. But this? This was as close to forever as he could give to anyone.

Their kisses grew deeper, hands roaming over faces instead of flesh lower down. Jack loved the feel of his fingers in Ianto's hair, and always grinned at Ianto's face when his fingers got stuck on the product in Jack's. Not tonight, not with his hair damp from the shower, and his heart sore from worry and the oldest fears.

Ianto's hands found their way down first, grasping Jack loosely and stroking him. Jack arched and moaned at the feeling, enjoying the caress and the easy knowledge between them of what felt good. He bent in for more kissing, reaching as he did for the table with the pump bottle. The gel was cold, and colder still when he reached back and slid his fingers up inside his own body. He loved this, too, he had to admit. He'd make love to a hundred different species, and still enjoy his own hands and fingers best.

Almost best.

Jack moved his body, carefully lining up Ianto's cock against him with a few wet strokes, then slowly descending to impale himself. Ianto's hands never broke their rhythm of stroking him even as his breath caught. Not fully prepared, not quite open enough, Jack bore down on the burn and the stretch before rising and falling in their familiar patterns of push and fuck.

Ianto's hand sped its stroke as Jack lifted and fell, murmuring endearments in old languages. This was succour, skin against skin with someone he loved. This was forgiveness, in the gasp and tender gaze of someone who loved him. This was home, where hand grasped hand and hearts raced and lips whispered and met in the dark. Pleasure pushed away heartache for a few sweet minutes.

He came fast, and less intensely than he often did. The pain was a bit much, and his heart wasn't in it tonight. Changing positions to better use his knees, he began riding Ianto harder until he too fell over the edge, thrusting into flesh that hurt more than pleased now.

As soon as Jack rolled off, Ianto rolled into him, kissing him more, and stroking the hard lines Jack felt on his face. "It's going to be all right," Ianto said. "It's all going to be fine."

It wasn't. Alice could be dead. Alice could be worse than dead. Steven hadn't inherited his curse. The only way to know for sure Alice hadn't was for someone to end her life.

As if reading his mind, and doubtless he was, Ianto embraced him and held him tight.

***

Gwen stood on Andy's doorstep with a tea and a smile.

"Go away," he said in a more friendly fashion than she'd feared.

"I need your help."

"You always need my help, and then you shut me out. No thanks, Gwen." He made his way down the stairs and towards his car. Undeterred, she followed him, waving the tea like a flag of truce.

"There's a woman gone missing, Andy."

"I don't do missing persons. You'll have to talk to the DI on the case."

"We haven't reported it yet."

He turned on her. "Why the hell not? You're coming to me for yet another favour, and you haven't done the first step in finding her yourself?"

She dropped her voice. "Torchwood has been searching for the last two days. We can't find a trace. Her name is Alice Carter. We need to find her, Andy."

"Is she an alien?"

"No. She's a mum. Her son needs her." She dropped her voice further. "And we think she might have been taken by aliens, yeah, which is why this is the first you're hearing about it. Aliens are our division."

He grabbed the tea from her hand and gave her a stern look. On any other face, she'd have been worried. On Andy's, it was all she could do not to laugh, bless him. "What happened?"

She filled him in on the details, leaving out why Jack was so hellbent on finding Alice. Andy didn't need to know everything. He nodded, asking questions as they walked. Yes, they'd covered that. Yes, they'd looked there, too.

He shook his head. "Gwen, the trail's already cold. I'm sorry, but by now, I'd be dredging the Bay."

***

Alice paid attention to the guards outside her cell. The cellblock, as much as she could tell, extended down a narrow bricked hallway to one door at the end, where the guards stood except when Johnson came to visit her. Johnson had instructed them not to listen to her, which meant logic or begging wouldn't get her anywhere. The one time Alice had stolen a spoon from her dinner tray, two guards had immediately come in, held her arms, and taken the spoon right back.

She didn't hear any other prisoners around her. Despite the three other doors she'd managed to see, she was certain she was alone in this block, if not the entire facility, wherever she was being held.

As one act of rebellion, she'd thrown her pillowcase over the camera lens, giving herself some privacy. Johnson hadn't commented and the guards hadn't stopped her. For her second act of rebellion, she'd begun examining the springs of her small bed, and with some perseverance, was in the process of getting one loose. As her mother had taught her, anything was a weapon, and any non-traditional weapon meant a higher chance of living. "A shiv in the eye they don't expect is better than a gun they do."

If Jack wasn't going to show up and free her, she bloody well was going to free herself, even if she had to stab Agent Johnson with a bedspring to do so.

***

Ianto tried and failed to beg off a trip to the cinema with Rhiannon and the children today. He wasn't helping with the search, because Jack wanted him to act as Steven's bodyguard at all times. He hadn't gone on a retrieval in days, and wasn't Miss Valentine surely thrilled to have him out of her hair as her own people scooped up more alien trinkets?

That reminded him, with a sudden thump. Tomorrow was Valentine's Day. He had his gift ready for Jack, sitting unremarkable and unnoticed in a heap with other artefacts in the Hub. He'd thought perhaps a night away together would be nice, but they had Steven, and Jack was worried sick about Alice. It'd be grotesque to spend the day thinking about romance.

A cold breeze blew down his neck like a handful of razor blades. Beside him, Steven shivered in his new red coat. February was brutal this year. Lois had said it was all Climate Change, and bundled up more warmly. Albert said it was aliens. Jack wouldn't say, but Jack rarely did when it came to possibly spoiling humanity's future.

"It's not far," Ianto said as they walked more quickly. Suddenly, they were stopped by the sounds of shouts. A Gr'nak, high on alien crank, threw its body again and again up against a door to a florist shop. Steven opened his mouth to scream, and Ianto clamped his hand over his face, hard. "Don't. Don't make a sound."

He took Steven's hand in his. Steven was getting too old for this, but it was safer. "Look down," Ianto said in a pleasant voice. "Don't make eye contact. Just walk and look like you have something else to think about just now." Looking positively preoccupied, they crossed the road together, away from the alien without attracting its attention. The first shop Ianto saw was a coffeeshop. "Go inside, lock yourself in a cubicle in the loo, and stay in there until I come for you."

When he was sure Steven was safely inside, Ianto checked his weapon. He touched his comm. "There's a Gr'nak on Charles Street. I'm going to try to subdue it. Send the car."

" _Don't go in_ ," Jack said in his ear. " _Just hold the scene._ "

"Whoops, signal's breaking up. See you soon." Ianto punched the button to silence the comm. This was a terrible idea, and would likely get him killed. Nevertheless, dozens of people were around now, and making enough noise that the beast had stopped paying attention to the delicious flowers and started noticing the delicious takeaways on legs.

"Oi!" he shouted, darting through cars to get closer. The Gr'nak paid him no mind, giving chase to a woman with an armload of shopping. Ah damn. Ianto ran faster, shouting and then shouting obscenities in an attempt to get its focus on him. The screaming wasn't helping.

A bloke beside him had a Venti, steaming in the cold air. Ianto said, "I need this, sorry." He overarmed the hot coffee at the Gr'nak, which roared in pain and turned. "Walk away very slowly," Ianto said to the man whose coffee he'd taken. "It won't chase you."

The bloke screamed and pelted away, catching the alien's attention again. Ianto sighed, and tried not to panic as a ton of muscle galloped his way. He steadied the shot and squeezed twice. Both bullets landed directly between its eyes. The momentum carried it the rest of the way, barrelling the corpse into him, and knocking the wind out of him as he fell, stunned.

The pavement was frozen and cold. The Gr'nak was steaming and stinking. Dead, though. Ianto felt woozy. He'd probably bumped his head on the hard concrete.

Hands helped move the Gr'nak off him, and voices chattered around him. He had to get up. He had to fetch Steven. Steven wasn't supposed to be out of his sight. Jack would be here any minute.

One of the voices clarified. "Let me through!" his sister demanded, as he was being helped upright. Rhi bent down to him. "God, Ianto, are you all right? I thought we were going to watch the film, not be in one."

He smiled. "It's fine. I'm fine." He glanced at the Gr'nak. "Fucking bear escaped from the zoo. Glad we didn't take the kids."

Rhiannon brushed her hand over his face. "That's not a bear, you muppet. That's an alien." She blinked. "You catch aliens for a living." Then she punched him in the arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

***

Jack and Gwen sprinted out the door. Albert turned on one heel and went to their containment facility, which wasn't much more than a couple of locked rooms in the cellar. Pol was out of her bed, redirecting the CCTV cameras to watch the goings-on. She flinched. "We can tell Albert not to bother with the containment cells." She touched the comm. "Jack, hope you took a body bag. That Gr'nak is going to leak everywhere."

Lois cringed. She'd be the one to clean up that mess when they got back, she just knew it. Ignoring this, she pulled up a screen's worth of information on their search to make herself feel better about helping. Alice Carter had left work when she typically did. If she arrived home, she wasn't there by the time her son arrived an hour later.

Just because she could, Lois reran the CCTV records from one hour and then two hours before the kidnapping. She extended it out further, going fifty km in every direction, running their face-matching software and licence screens. Just as Gwen had found nothing over the last two days, no new information leapt out at her. She checked the satellite records again, but even those had been out of range. Or retasked.

Lois stared at her screen in thought.

She'd joined Torchwood initially as a helper. There'd been a case, a terrible government cover-up that still made her upset even to consider. PM Green had lost his position over it, and shortly after, his life when he'd chosen a home-rigged noose over a life in prison. But he'd hurt children. She remembered the children. The government had controlled everything, including the satellites. She'd made copies.

Not a single one had caught the area where Alice Carter would have disappeared from. Now that she had an idea of what she was looking for, Lois pored through the satellite records again, overlaying military, entertainment, Google, and the rest.

She looked for the hole in the picture.

***

Gwen had expected the Gr'nak's body, and the small crowd which Ianto wasn't managing to keep off. She hadn't expected the crowd to include Ianto's sister, and her children, nor for Rhiannon to turn instantly to Jack when he stepped out of the car and harangue him. Gwen gave him a look and told him his domestic problems were not her domestic problems, and she went to help Ianto with the onlookers.

"Animal control," Gwen said, flashing one of several badges she had. "We need you to back away so we can load this poor … "

"Bear," Ianto said.

"Bear into the SUV."

Behind her, she heard Rhiannon going on at Jack. "You put him into danger! This mad thing almost killed him."

"It didn't almost kill me."

Gwen shooed the last of the bystanders away. Not wanting to get involved in the personal drama, she fetched the body bag from the car.

"He got you killed, though. Christ, Ianto, I remember that!" She shouted at Jack, who backed away quickly. "You trying to do it again?"

That stopped her. Gwen looked at Ianto. "What's that?" Killed? But Ianto was right there. He was fine. Jack was the one who died all the time.

Memories of the Miracle flowed into her mind, and Gwen dropped the bag. How could she have forgotten that?

Jack held up his hands in case Rhiannon got it in her head to deck him. He asked Ianto, "Where is Steven?"

"Across the way. I told him to hide in the loo."

"I'll get him," said Gwen. Her mind was playing tricks on her, perhaps from the weird sunlight today, shining through air so cold it burned her cheeks.

Jack said, " _I'll_ get him. Ianto, help us load this. Gwen, take it back to the Hub and let Polly sort out what happened. When she's done, there's a garage in Grangetown where you can leave the body." He checked over the Gr'nak and frowned. "I know this guy. He worked for the Bugs. They're not going to like this."

The three of them managed to get the corpse loaded into the back of the SUV. Gwen chose the better part of valour and got out before the real shouting started. Rhiannon was angry about something, and it sounded as though there were a lot of somethings. She kept saying her brother was dead, which was ridiculous. Ianto stood right there in front of her.

The Hub wasn't in much better condition when she pulled into the underground car park. Lois babbled excitedly about a hole in the satellites, which Dr. Pol overlaid her own natter on. The phone was ringing, and Albert picked up as Gwen came in.

"I'll put you on speaker," he said, and flicked the switch.

Mopolite's smooth voice filled the room, sending Lois and Pol silent. "Where is Captain Harkness?"

"He's out on a case," said Gwen. "Gwen Cooper. We've met. You can talk to me."

Lois scribbled quickly on a piece of paper and handed it to Gwen: _I've found Alice. We need to go now._

"Mrs. Cooper, tell me, why did Torchwood burn down our warehouse last night?"

Surrounded with too much information at one time, Gwen said, "Mr. Mopolite, I'm going to hand you over."

"If you say I'm to be put on with your lovely admin, Miss Habiba, I assure you that I will gut her like a fish." Mopolite's tone never changed. Lois looked sick.

"My associate. Albert?" Gwen clicked off the speaker, and mouthed, "Deal with him."

Albert picked up the phone and said, "What warehouse?"

"Come on," Gwen said to Lois and Pol. By all rights, Lois should stay and sort out whatever was going on with the alien crime boss, and Albert should go with. Jack should as well, but Gwen had no intention of letting him ride along, not with the possibility that they'd be riding in to retrieve Alice's dead body. She couldn't risk that. There was no telling what Jack would do if someone he loved died.

***

Jack lacked the desire to shoot anyone around him, but that was going to change very quickly. Steven hadn't wanted to come out of the loo, claiming Ianto had specifically said to wait for him. On the one hand, Jack was glad. The bond between Ianto and Steven had only grown since their return home. Steven was closer to him than to his real father, and Ianto had trained himself to refer to the child as his godson to condition himself out of calling Steven his son. Ianto told Steven what to do and how to live and when to brush his teeth, and Steven listened. He wouldn't come out until Ianto said so, because Ianto was the only one who'd not abandoned him.

"I'm telling you, it's safe now."

"I have to stay here until I get the word."

That was another thing. Jack had accustomed himself to no longer being the centre of attention when the three of them were together for weekends or meals. The other two shared passcodes and shorthand jokes which left Jack mystified. He remembered this feeling from his early days on the TARDIS. Part of him was reassured, remembering also how swiftly that situation melted into warm camaraderie, creating his own jokes and stories with Rose and the Doctor. Part of him worried more, remembering what came after, remembering waking up alone and frightened, and discovering later he'd not been simply left for dead as he'd told himself for a century must have been the case.

He could face being shut out. He was not sure he could face being left again, no matter how many times he told Ianto to take Steven and go. Tomorrow promised nothing but a return to yesterday's loneliness. Today, Steven capitulated, with promises of ice cream from Jack.

They headed back into the street, where Ianto and Rhiannon were rowing. As they were rowing about aliens and coming back from the dead, and neither of them fools, they didn't shout and they argued in a shorthand he could translate very easily:

"You should have told me about your rowdy friends."

"First. You wouldn't have believed me. You'd have thought I was loony."

"You are loony, but I would have believed you."

"Second! I had signed … a promise not to talk about them. At all."

Jack approached, carefully holding Steven's hand despite the latter's reluctance. "It is true," he said to Ianto. "You are a loony." He kissed his cheek. "Are we done here?"

"You never come to see us any more." Rhiannon's expression was dark, not exactly angered but almost disappointed. "You might drop by. We don't bite and we've had our shots."

"Let's start with the cinema," Ianto said. "See if the kids get along. All right?"

"Fine. But you're coming for dinner on Sunday. No arguments."

"Great," said Jack before Ianto could argue anyway. "I'm going back to work. Enjoy the film." 

He took a taxi back to the Hub, where he found Albert on a call and the rest gone.

"I assure you," Albert said in a strained voice, "no-one from Torchwood was in London last night. You're mistaken."

Jack took the phone out of his hand and said, "Captain Jack Harkness. Who am I speaking to?"

"Captain," said Mopolite. "Your week ends in two days. Do not spend it wasting my time." The line went dead.

"Funny. He spent the entire time insisting on talking to you."

"Yeah." Jack set the phone in its cradle. "Where's Gwen? And everyone else?"

Albert turned away, focusing on his console. "They went out on a retrieval. They'll check in later."

"Shouldn't we join them?"

"Won't be necessary."

***

She would never admit it, but Alice really wished her father were there. She had her tiny weapon wrapped in her knickers, which was the only small cloth she had available. Her mother's words and training running through her head, she readied herself for an opportunity, any opportunity. The guards didn't seem like the type to fall for the "sick prisoner" scam. Her only way out of the cell was when the door opened, and that meant taking down Agent Johnson.

So, problem solved. She wasn't getting out.

The door at the end of the cell block creaked open. Alice sat on her bunk, legs braced. If she pushed off against the floor and launched herself at the woman, she had one chance at taking her by surprise. The spring was 15 cm long, long enough for her to stab Johnson in the eye or ear. "A soft target is best," her mother had instructed. "Give them something personal to deal with instead of with you."

Boots clacked their way down the corridor. The window darkened, and the door opened.

Mouth sour with fear, Alice threw all her weight at Johnson, stabbing her arm directly at the woman's face. A black-clad arm blocked her blow, but the metal sliced home, ripping a gash into her flesh. The spring stuck, and Alice let go, shoving as Johnson cursed at her.

The door was still open. The guard was down the corridor. Johnson never came into the cell armed. Alice had no weapon now and no way to get another. She'd just attacked the one person who cared about keeping her alive. Mum's teaching helped her start; Dad's piss-poor planning skills would get her killed.

"Fuck," she said under her breath, and ran for it. Johnson shouted to the guard. Please be a stupid guard. Please be a stupid guard.

The uniformed man raised his weapon and trained the sight on Alice. "Halt or I will shoot."

Alice didn't even slow down, diving for his legs and confusing him for half a second. Two shots rang out. Alice screamed, feeling nothing but the pain in her hands where she'd hit the hard, concrete floor.

The guard fell, clutching his neck. A woman appeared in the doorway to the outer cell block. Alice recognised her from somewhere. Torchwood? Dark hair, gun, shouting Alice's name. Probably Torchwood.

Alice scrambled to her feet. She didn't look down at her captor. Behind her, she heard Johnson's boots.

"Come on," said the woman.

They ran down the outer corridor together. Alice hadn't been conscious on her way in, and now she followed the woman in a confused dash. The building was old, nearly abandoned. Where she expected guards, she noted empty workstations with panels and wiring ripped out.

"What is this place?"

"Old military holding facility." The woman reached a closed door, and stopped. She pounded three times.

Johnson hadn't stopped her pursuit. They'd outrun her for the moment, but Alice heard her catching them up. "What's wrong?"

"It's electronic. We blew the lock, but it must have shut. Damn!" She pounded again, unable to move the heavy metal door.

"Hold," Johnson said. Alice turned to see Johnson, bleeding from the arm, holding the stricken guard's weapon. "You're not leaving."

"Like hell," said her rescuer, aiming back at Johnson. Standoff. Lovely.

"I need the information Mrs. Carter has. I will free her myself after she cooperates."

"You don't need anything from me."

"I do. I need to know why I remember your son's death. I need to know why no-one else does. You're the only one who can give me answers."

"You're mistaken," said the other woman. Gwen. Alice had met her a couple of times. Definitely Torchwood. "Alice's son is alive and well, and I am taking her home to him."

"No! I was there. I remember. What happened? What changed?" 

Gwen steadied her gun. "Look, I don't know what you think is going on, but Alice and I are going to leave now. Find yourself a nice analyst, talk through your issues about your mum, whatever." She blinked a couple of times, as though flies were at her face, or a bad dream. "Steven's not dead."

Johnson raised her gun.

"The Doctor changed time," Alice said. "Some woman he travelled with had the world in her head. People came back. That's why you remember. There were multiple timelines, not just two, but hundreds. They've sorted themselves out, and my son is fine, and I want to go home." It sounded mad. It was mad. But so was the rest of Alice's life. "The Trickster Brigade can see multiple timelines. You got infected. I'm sorry about that. I'd forget about the other timeline if I could."

"Other timeline?" Gwen asked, her own face gone blank and soft. "Steven died?"

"Things are better now," Alice said, in her same calming-the-crazy-person tone.

Johnson stared at both of them. "The Doctor? UNIT's old consultant? I thought he was a myth."

"He is," Gwen said, sounding more sure of herself. "He's also real. Questions answered?"

"How do I forget? I don't want these memories." She lowered her gun. "I don't want to see that, night after night."

"Join the club," Alice said wearily. "We'll make matching shirts."

"Stand back!" came a shout from the other side of the door. Gwen looked at Johnson, but she was no longer attacking. She seemed lost and sad. The three of them backed away from the door, which shuddered a moment later and fell down.

From the other side, two women held up their own guns. "Gwen!" shouted the first. A younger woman, hair cut short, looking terrified. The other woman was short, and a bit dumpy, and looked like she'd been in a fight with the guards outside.

"It's fine, Lois," Gwen said. "We're leaving." Despite this, the shorter woman stepped into the room and began feeling for Alice's pulse and examining her for any injuries. She glanced at Johnson, but did not offer aid.

Alice took one last look at her gaoler. She had a question of her own that burned for an answer. "Why now? Steven's been home for over a year."

"I needed to know. The woman said she knew your route from work, and I should ask you."

"What woman?" Gwen asked.

"She said her name was Mrs. Jones. I assume it was an alias. Are you leaving?"

Gwen nodded to her colleagues. No more questions today.

"I wouldn't have hurt you," Johnson said as Alice stepped outside. Alice didn't respond. She didn't believe her any more than she'd trusted her back during those terrible days that never were.

***

His mobile beeped as the credits rolled. Ianto's heart leapt as he checked the message from Gwen: "Alice ok. Meet us at the Hub."

"We have to go," he told Rhiannon and the kids, more excited than apologetic. "We're meeting up with Steven's mother in a few minutes."

Steven's head spun. "She's okay?"

"Let's go say hello, shall we?"

Rhi said, "You're still coming round for dinner. No excuses. Bring Steven's mum if you want to." She pecked him on the cheek.

The weather was frigid, and promised snow. He let Rhi talk him into dropping them off at the Chanticleer shopfront. "When you said you worked here, I thought you were just an antiques fancier." She placed delicate pauses around the words. Rhi _did_ know what the name meant, but then, she'd taught him his first prick jokes when they'd been about David's age.

He ignored her unasked question. "I am. I love old things. I leave the alien-chasing to Jack. I'm strictly into collectables these days."

"Really aliens?" David asked. "Like, when your car got stolen from the estate, it had aliens in?"

"Thank you for the ride," he said, refusing to answer. "I'll see you Sunday." By Sunday, she may have forgotten again.

Steven burst through the doors as fast as he could run, and stamped impatiently until Ianto got the inner door unlocked. He ran down the corridor, Ianto walking more slowly behind. Moments later, Steven flew into the new Hub proper, and shouted, "Mum!"

Alice sat in the med area, Dr. Pol fussing over a tablet rather than the patient, and not even an I.V. started. Steven threw himself into his mother's arms, hugging her until she almost popped. Ianto grinned, a little tired, relieved and also (though he'd never, ever admit so) a touch sad. That boy was meant to be with his mother, always had done even when he'd been invisible to her and to everyone who'd known him. Steven was happy at home, usually, and when he went back after a weekend visit to Cardiff, he looked forward to seeing his mum and his friends. He came here for hugs, and an occasional recharge under Ianto's care and Jack's forceful personality, and then he went home. Ianto missed him every time.

"What happened? Where were you?" He came closer and took Alice's hand with a quick, friendly squeeze. She nodded at him over Steven's head, the closest she would come to thanking him for watching her son whilst she was missing. But that was Alice all around.

Gwen handed him a mug of coffee, which he drank and found a shot of bourbon in. "We're celebrating. Lois found her looking through the satellite records."

Jack said, "And Lois is getting a huge pay rise for it."

"I'll hold you to that," Lois said.

Ianto took a seat and let the story unfold in bits and bobs, as Alice filled Steven in, and Jack toasted the rescuers each in turn. Pol was looking much better today, either from Martha's care or from getting back to work. Albert, who hadn't gone, offered to fetch lunch, almost certainly as an excuse to get out from under the merriment.

Gwen said, "We'll have to do something about that woman, Jack. She's mad."

"I don't think so any longer," Alice said. "She wanted her answers. She got them."

"Mad," Gwen repeated. "She went on and on about Steven being … " She glanced at the boy. "Hurt. I don't trust her."

Pol said, "She said a woman told her how to get Alice. Said her name was Mrs. Jones. I would like to be the first to ask Ianto if he's got a wife stashed away somewhere." Steven giggled.

"We'll pay Johnson a visit," Jack said, and didn't say he'd force-feed her about five years' worth of Retcon, but then, Steven was still listening. "Not today."

"I want to go home," Alice said. "Thank you for coming for me. But Steven and I should get back. I've missed work, he's missed school." She glanced at her father. "You'll have fixed that, of course. Gone in and tampered the records."

"I'll have Albert cook something up when he gets back," her father promised.

"Good. Where's my car?"

The rest of them exchanged looks. Lois said, "We never found it. She may have towed it, or abandoned it somewhere we haven't looked."

Alice sighed. "I liked that car. I bought it the day you were released from hospital," she said to Ianto. "New life, new start, and all that."

Gwen sipped her adulterated coffee and frowned. "When was that, then?"

"Never mind," said Jack. "Steven's things are at ours. We'll go by, then drive you home." He sighed, and Ianto read the same half-sadness in his eyes before he hid the emotion away. His child would leave him again, too.

***

Jack drove the longer route back to the flat, extending the visit by a good ten minutes and not even running any traffic lights. Ianto had to know what he was doing, but Alice sat comfortably in the back, holding Steven next to her, and didn't object. She still hated him. He knew she did, and had, and would. She thawed a little more every week, every month, and possibly by the time Steven was old enough to marry, she'd return to liking her father again instead of merely tolerating his presence for the good of her son.

He pulled into the tiny car park beside their block. "Do you want to stay in the car, or come inside?"

"Inside," Steven said, even though he hadn't been the one Jack had asked.

The four of them walked into the building, Jack's nerves suddenly fraying. Something was wrong. He waved at Alice and Ianto. "Wait here," he said in a low voice, then walked up the flight of stairs alone. The door to their flat was open.

He pulled out his gun. He thought about shouting down to them, but didn't want to alert the intruders. Jack crept up to his door and looked inside. The flat had been turned upside-down. Books and CDs were all over the floor, the table and chairs were broken, as was one window, and the television was missing. The thieves were long gone.

"Come on up," he said. "We had a break-in." The door jamb was splintered, and had a kicked-in look to it. As the other three came to see, Jack noticed paint sprayed over the kitchen cupboards: graffiti too messy to read.

"Fuck," Ianto said, then covered his mouth with his hand as Alice shot him a look. "Oh, it's a mess. And the telly's gone."

Steven ran ahead to the little room he used. Alice followed. "It's messy," she called out, "but I think that's him."

Jack went back to their bedroom. The mattress had been tipped and the sheets slashed. Ianto stepped beside him, face falling. "None of the other valuables were taken. Not a normal break-in, then. Is it bad I'm praying it was a hate crime?"

"Not something to hope for," Jack said absently. He returned to the sitting room, toeing his boots through the mess until he found what he wasn't sure he'd been looking for. He grabbed a ruined antimacassar and picked up a broken piece of unfamiliar technology. "This wasn't our remote control. Got a bag handy?" Ianto ducked into the kitchen.

Alice came back out of the room. Steven had his suitcase. "We can stay a while until the police arrive."

"This wasn't a burglary. Someone targeted us. We'll tell the neighbours it was some hoodlums who saw us holding hands."

"Was it?"

"No." Jack showed her the item. He loved being able to identify the weird alien junk that washed ashore in his city, but he needed more research before he could definitively state where this one originated. "I told you, there are two gangs of aliens gearing up to start a war on my streets, and neither set likes me much."

"You do shoot aliens for a living."

Ianto came out of the kitchen and held the baggie open for Jack. "They take that personally."

Jack said, "You two can't go home. I can't guarantee they won't target you there."

Alice spread her arms. "We aren't staying here."

"It's all right. Steven and I found a place to stay." Ianto looked around, and Jack picked up on his worry. There was no telling what listening devices might have been left behind. "I'll just be a moment." He hurried into their bedroom, and Jack heard the sounds of his hurried packing.

"Dad."

"It's only for a few days. I need to know you'll both be safe."

"For how long, really? Until the next time you piss off someone important or green?"

"Alice, you just disappeared, and yeah, it was because of me. Can we not?" He went to the bookshelf and shifted it. Alice grumbled, then helped him move the heavy wooden frame to cover the broken window.

Ianto came out of the bedroom, an overstuffed suitcase in his arms. "Let's go. I'll tell you in the car. I'm driving. You can call Gwen and have her warn the others to be on their guard."

***


	5. Chapter 5

***  
Chapter 5  
***

Gwen set the phone back in its cradle. She'd left voicemail for Albert. Dr. Pol would stay with Lois tonight. Her home had already been invaded once. Gwen looked around her own lovely little home, the one they'd bought after all the madness and the travelling. Her life had been a whirlwind ever since she'd started at Torchwood, and once again, the maelstrom threatened her in her home.

"Rhys, love, I think you should take Anwen and go stay with my mother for a while."

Rhys looked up at her from the sofa, where he'd been half-watching the telly but mostly listening in on her calls. "I think that's the bloody stupidest thing I've heard all day. We can't up and leave just because you're spooked. Also, it's started to shit down snow."

"There's going to be a war, and we're right in the middle." Her pulse raced, and there were fears she couldn't quite name, memories lurking in her mind she didn't want to examine. She'd do anything for this idiot, and for the little girl asleep in her bed. She'd tried to kill her best friend once for their sakes. The memory was clear as day. "I don't want you hurt."

"Then stop the bastards." He looked pleased with himself for thinking of this. She sighed.

***

Lois checked the deadbolts again. "I've got my gun. You?"

Dr. Pol yawned as she settled in the sheets Lois had made up for her as a bed on the sofa. "In my bag. I hate leaving it around."

"I'll leave my door ajar. You hear anything at all, call for me."

There was a strong knock at the door. Lois jumped. Pol was on her feet instantly, scrabbling through her bag. "Don't answer that."

Lois put off the safety, and said, "We didn't order a pizza."

"Good. I hate pizza," said Albert from outside. "Let me in."

Lois glanced at Pol, who lowered her bag. Lois kept the gun raised; this could be a trap. She unlocked the door. Albert stood there, snow blowing around him. "Those roads are a nightmare. Can I come in?"

She stepped aside, and he hurried in, bringing snow and melt to drip on her carpet. "What are you doing here?"

"The boss brought me an artefact to look up, some Arkellian thing. I got that sorted, got Gwen's call, and reckoned you and Pol would be here."

"And?" asked Dr. Pol.

"And I thought, the safest place in Cardiff tonight would be between the two of you to protect me." He smiled his thin, pained smile.

Pol looked at Lois and shrugged. Lois lowered her gun, which she still had ready. She locked the deadbolt again. "Fine. The floor is yours."

***  
February 14th  
***

The heater was for shit in this manky little Grangetown bedsit. The paper blind, torn in two places, let in the bright glare from the snow outside and revealed frost inside the single-paned glass. All the better for the excuse to conserve body heat under the generous pile of quilts, Ianto decided, wrapping his arm more snugly around Jack, and pressing flat against him. The quilts had the faintly mouldy smell of bedding left in the cupboard too long without air. He buried his nose in Jack's arm to block it out.

"We should get up," Jack said, sounding unconvinced.

"No, we should stay in bed and have sex all day. It's Valentine's Day."

This earned him a kiss on the head. "I suspect I've been a terrible influence on you."

"You have." Ianto turned his head, and moved in for a better kiss. "Let's scandalise the new neighbours."

"The ones who think I'm your brother?" Jack didn't sound upset, and the darkening glow in his eyes suggested this was a whole new game to play.

"We could have gone to Barry. We're married in Barry." 

Alice and Steven were safe in Caerphilly under the identities Ianto had planted there. Jack had insisted on returning to Cardiff despite the worsening roads. They had one day left of the truce, and they'd lost too much time looking for Alice. Jack had to spend today preventing a disaster.

First things first, though. They fell into each other, kissing like horny teenagers, hands reaching for skin and tangling in hair, and legs wrapping around and between for the best friction to rub and rut. Ianto kept his voice down. Jack didn't, moaning loudly either because he didn't mind the neighbours hearing, or because he wanted them to know what a good time he was having.

"We'll go somewhere nice when this is over," Jack said in his ear, reaching between them to take them both in hand. Ianto's hand joined his, letting Jack guide the rise and fall of their grip, faster and faster. "I'll pick up some oils, those ones you like, and cover your back in warm slick. We can slide against each other all night. You and me." He bit down on the earlobe, and Ianto howled.

From outside, Ianto heard the sound of what could have been a car backfiring in the distance, but he couldn't make himself care.

***

Gwen cased the scene, hands in gloves too thin for today's weather. Andy had been right about the aliens. She just wasn't sure how bad this was. As Jack and Ianto pulled up in Jack's car, she walked over to them, appreciating the heat from the engine. "Mass shooting. There's seven dead in there."

As they got out, Jack asked, "Human?"

"No. Jack, it looks like four of the head Bugs, two of their bodyguards, and another alien. A Berana." She'd known the face of one of them. Andy had already left to tell poor Freda.

They reached the roped-off doorway, and Jack turned, horrified. "Four? That's most of their top hierarchy."

"That's not the worst part. Andy interviewed witnesses, and they all saw a black SUV with the word 'Torchwood' stencilled on the side, speeding away."

Ianto said, "I told you we needed to take the logo off everything. Secret organisation, I said."

"Ianto, love, our new car doesn't have it. We haven't done since ages ago. You lost the car. Remember?"

They both looked at her oddly. "The point is," Gwen said, "it wasn't us. It clearly wasn't us unless Lois has been going on shooting sprees."

"It could be Albert," Ianto said. They both ignored him.

Jack led the way into the ruined garage. Gwen had been here once already, the smell of strange blood all up in her nose. "They were lined up," he said. "This was an execution."

"I'll get the bags," Ianto said.

"No. Go to Caerphilly, get Alice and Steven, and bring them to the Hub."

"What?" asked Gwen, and Ianto asked, "Why?"

"Someone just framed us for murder. The Hub is the most secure place for everyone right now. Gwen, call Rhys and have him bring Anwen. Everyone stays together."

"Which is fine," Ianto said, taking the keys, "until they decide to bomb the Hub again."

Gwen pulled out her mobile and dialled Harwood's. The new office had a bad telephone line, but Mandy eventually picked up and put her through to Rhys. Gwen gave him the short version as Jack began loading bodies.

***

Jack went alone to see the new Boss Bug. There was a very good chance he'd be shot on sight. Worse things had happened to him.

The admin outside the Bug office wouldn't let him in. "The Boss thinks Torchwood has done quite enough," he said, with an icy politeness. The admin could pass for human to someone who didn't know what to look for, and Jack did.

In the alien's native language, Jack said, "I swear, it wasn't us."

To Jack's lack of surprise, the door behind the admin opened, and the new Boss came out. "Your own police say it was you. You dare come into this hive of mourning with lies."

"I brought your dead to you. You can give the bodies their proper funerals." Normally he'd have ordered an autopsy before the release. No point, really. Hundreds of rounds of bullets naturally killed most living creatures dead. Even the Bug who'd still been alive when the police arrived expired soon after. "I am deeply sorry for your loss."

"Not sorry enough. We will make you bleed."

"We didn't do this. Someone wants you to think we did. Someone wanted something from you."

"Did you take the item?" the Bug shrieked. Suddenly its rage flew into relief: it mourned its fallen hivemates, but desperately wanted something they'd had in their possession.

Jack shook his head. "I took nothing from the garage but your dead. Send your own people to retrieve your goods. We won't stop you."

"Our people have searched."

That was fast. He wondered how they'd got in. Perception filters? Chunks of the slab from their old invisible lift were going for thousands apiece on the black market. Ianto had collected half a dozen thus far, and Albert had just brought in another yesterday.

Then he realised he was thinking like an alien hunter instead of like a gang leader. "You have police officers on your payroll."

The Bug clicked and flicked its antennae at him. "You say you had nothing to do with the massacre."

"I give you my word."

"Then Mopolite murdered them, and placed the blame at your feet. And he will pay."

Jack hesitated, but the conclusion was obvious. Mopolite wanted the Bugs dead. He'd said a week. Maybe a week was different on his homeworld. "You can't go after him for this. It'll be nothing but bloodshed."

"His!"

"And yours. Let me talk to him again. Make him see reason."

"My brethren are dead, Captain. Leave me their bodies and begone. This does not concern you, if you are as innocent as you claim."

Jack couldn't argue. As he went to leave, a delivery came in: a huge array of red roses in condolence. He snatched the card from the nervous deliveryman's yielding grasp. The man kept staring at the Boss Bug. Jack said, "Haven't you ever seen someone in fancy dress?" The man fled without a tip.

Jack handed the card to the Boss. "I hate to say you were right." Mopolite had sent the roses.

Once the car was emptied of bodies, Jack phoned Mopolite directly. "You have a lot of nerve."

" _You will have to be more specific._ "

"You shot those Bugs this morning and tried to blame us. Then you sent that tacky bouquet. What kind of game are you playing? You said we had until tomorrow."

" _I heard about the regrettable incident this morning,_ " Mopolite said, sounding as though he did honestly feel bad about the brutal deaths of several of his enemies. " _I merely wanted to express my condolences to the family. I hear you killed them._ "

"You heard wrong."

" _One more day, Captain._ " The line clicked over. Jack tore the bluetooth off his ear and threw it into the passenger seat.

***

The Hub felt crowded with frightened people. Ianto had closed shop in front for the day. Let patrons who might want to buy their sweetheart a nice antique clock pass on by. He was busy wondering if they should ready a war council or prepare for a siege. Placing money on the latter, he took Lois aside and began making a list of supplies they'd need to withstand several days here as a group. More alcohol would be choice, to start.

"Do you think they'll really come after us?" she asked him, scratching down non-perishables.

"Don't you?"

Albert was busy helping Jack and Gwen pore over CCTV images from before and after the shooting. As when Alice was taken, the cameras in the vicinity had been deactivated. They concentrated on side streets, pushing the search parameters for known aliens. Alice and Rhys had both rapidly reached "In the way and bored," and that would only worsen if they were all trapped in close quarters for any length of time. Dr. Pol had solved this by finding a deck of cards and insisting on teaching them both a form of poker which only existed on her homeworld, and which Ianto strongly suspected she was making up on the spot.

"No," she said to Alice. "That's a half-pair. It's worth double if you have a face card."

Steven sat on the floor with Anwen. She had her ponies, and he had his army men, and they swapped out. Anwen babbled a story at him, which he ignored. The army man in his hand made "pew pew" noises at the one in hers, and she giggled. Then he knocked her man over, and took the purple pony.

"Mine!"

"No, my dude shot your dude. I get his stuff."

"MINE!"

"Here," he said, handing her another army man. "Have your dude shoot my dude. Then we can both take their stuff."

Ianto watched them play. Above them on the table, the hastily-wrapped coral sat on its precarious perch. He was meant to give that to Jack today, a romantic gesture for a romantic day. Instead, it kept watch over the children as they systematically killed the little plastic men and took possession of the little plastic horses. He'd been so proud of himself, too, swiping the coral out from under Firestone's nose.

Ianto nearly didn't trust himself to speak. He felt the idea stretching off his fingers like taffy. "Albert?"

Albert looked up from his notebook. Bracing himself for their usual barbs, he said, "What?"

"What did Mopolite say about the warehouse fire yesterday? What was taken?"

"An Angredi lifepod. It had crashed. Mopolite claimed he was storing the wreckage for the Angredi for 'religious reasons.'"

"But what did he say about us?"

Albert shrugged. "One of the warehouse guards saw a black SUV speed away from the site, and they thought it was ours. Most of the ship was missing from the ashes. They think we took it and burned the rest."

Lois said, "But we didn't. And we didn't shoot those Bugs in the garage."

"No." Ianto watched the children. "The Boss Bug said something was missing in the garage. Did he say what?"

Jack shook his head. "Some artefact. We'll find it."

"We won't. It was taken." He looked at Jack and Gwen. "This isn't a war. This is a game. It's called, 'You two fight, and we'll nick your things.'"

Gwen gave a short laugh. "This isn't a game. Aliens have been dying."

"People," said Dr. Pol from the card table.

"People," Gwen agreed. "That's not playing soldiers."

Ianto said, "Do you remember the week we worked for G.R. Owens? You sold perfume. I worked in the men's department. Please say you remember that."

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"You think Firestone is behind this?" Jack said. He looked sceptical. "This is a long-standing feud. They would have had to plan it for years."

"Not if they were just taking advantage."

Albert said, "Go into one gang, remind them how the other blokes knifed your mum. Send someone into the other gang, tell them those buggers ate your dog. Then sit back and watch them go at it and wipe one another off the map. I'm surprised we didn't think of it."

Ianto was too pleased that someone else saw the pattern that he didn't mind that someone was Albert, just this once.

Lois turned to her console and began running a search. "That's not quite right. The Bugs and the Machine aren't the largest threat. There's a third party with a huge collection of weaponry and alien artefacts. Strictly speaking," she said, pulling up the data in the fastest chart Ianto'd ever seen someone create, "the third gang would be the plum to pick."

"Us," Jack said, leaning in for a closer look at her numbers. "Hey, we're doing pretty good."

"I'll order us matching bandannas and tattoos next week," said Ianto. "Jack, I think Firestone has been fanning the conflict between the two gangs, and blaming us. It's her."

Gwen wrinkled her nose. She had no more love for Miss Valentine than Ianto did. The woman had nearly killed her the day they met. "She's a telepath. Remember how she pushed us when we were fighting her? She could be pushing them to fight right now." She stumbled a step back, and stared at Jack. "She could be pushing _us_ right now. I can't tell you how many times over the last few days I've been thinking of something, and it's slipped out of my head. Like I'm trying to remember something but I forget that I've forgotten. I'm not going daft, shut up, Rhys," she finished without a pause.

The card game well and truly done, Rhys set down his hand and approached her like she was a feral cat. "Not any more than normal," he said in a cheery tone.

"What if she's in my head now? What if she's in all our heads? Making us think things. Or forget things."

Jack said, "Possible but unlikely. When we set up this place, I put in extra field dampeners. That includes dampening most outside psychic interference. You should be psychically deaf as a post in here."

"Not for everyone," said Dr. Pol, tidying up her cards. "I still pick up things."

"You're not a telepath," Albert said fondly. "You're just a weirdo." Pol harrumphed but didn't argue.

Ianto asked Jack, "Do you believe me?"

"I think there's a very good chance you're right. I also think we're going to have a very hard time proving anything."

Alice stared from one to another. "Why?"

"Why what?" asked Jack.

"Why prove it? Why step in? They're aliens." She glanced at Pol. "Sorry, but it's true. Torchwood's whole mission is to defend Earth from aliens. I learned to recite the line the same time I learned my alphabet. And if that's not enough, they are criminals in gangs. Let them fight. This isn't your problem."

Jack looked her way, and his eyes slipped to Pol, who sat watching him back. He sighed. "People, aliens or humans, don't join gangs because they're evil. They do it for protection, and for a sense of belonging."

Gwen said, "And crime."

Jack glared at her with a "You, too?" expression, but that had never daunted Gwen before and didn't now. "Yeah," he said finally. "Sometimes that too. And Mopolite is shoulder-deep in a lot. Not all his people are, and the Bugs have some rackets going, but they don't cause trouble for us. They police their own. None of them deserve to die because Firestone wants easy access to more tech."

***

Albert had all but begged for the job. Jack said no, pointing out how easily Miss Valentine got into human minds. "That's me, then," Pol had said, and refused to back down when Jack tried to talk her out of it.

She was the obvious choice, the only choice. Besides, she wanted payback.

With her handbag on her lap, and her hands folded primly, Pol waited in the second chair until Miss Valentine came into her own office, the small one she kept in Cardiff for local business. She stepped back, momentarily startled before she recomposed herself.

"Dr. Pol. What a pleasant surprise."

"I imagine it must be, yes. Did you think those men you sent managed to kill me?"

Valentine smiled politely and sat at her desk. She glanced over a pile of papers to one side, then returned her attention to Pol. "What men? No, I'm surprised you got past security."

"They'll recover."

"As you have." She tided the papers. "I'm rather busy. Did you have a reason for barging into my office?"

"I do. I'm here to make you an offer."

Valentine smiled thinly. "Jones can keep the coral. Our sources indicate it has little resale value."

"I'm offering you, right now and with no strings, the opportunity to prevent a war and at the same time, walk away with your life."

Pol felt a sharp prodding at the edges of her mind. Her own shields would not allow entry. Valentine appeared to notice this, frowned briefly, then smoothed her face into a bland disinterest. "Dr. Pol, I work in acquisitions and sales. I find items of interest to buyers, and I provide those items with a small surcharge."

"You're a weapons dealer."

"Firestone does provide some items of a stratotic nature. I can't judge my customers for any bellicose uses to which they might put their new possessions."

"And where do you acquire your items?"

"Where I can." Valentine fixed her with a stare. "Firestone is in the same business as Torchwood. We find alien artefacts and we take them."

"Torchwood doesn't go around starting gang wars."

Valentine sat back in her chair. The leather creaked. "I was under the impression the gangs in question were doing a fine job starting their own scuffles."

"They were. But you couldn't let them alone. You got involved. Your people have been assassinating key members of both gangs for months, and blaming each on the other side. You nearly had us caught up in the mess as well. You tried to frame the Machine for that break-in at Jack's place but the artefact you left was one you swiped from Ianto's collection. This morning, your people used our old car to frame us for the murders of seven Bugs, and you stole the artefact they had."

"That's a great deal of conjecture on your part. The way I heard the story, Torchwood had those Bugs killed in repayment for kidnapping Harkness's daughter."

"Which you assisted in. I can only assume you thought it would be good to distract Jack from what you were planning."

"Did it?" she asked, with a quirky smile.

Pol didn't reply. Instead, she opened her handbag and pulled out a sheaf of documents, which Lois had written up. "This is a confession for you to sign. We'll distribute the forms to the Bugs and the Machine. This can end cleanly, and it can end now." She handed the sheaf over. 

"Why would I sign that?"

"It's the right thing to do."

"Not interested. Go home, Doctor. Bar your windows and lock your doors. You're intelligent for an alien. Stay out of this."

She ignored the 'for an alien' bit. "I can't. You see, I have sworn an oath to help suffering when I see it. These people are going to slaughter one another because of you. I have to do what I can to prevent that from happening." She leaned forward. "I'm not like you. I'm not as smart. I don't look at people as pieces in a game, and decide the winner myself. I can't see the board the way you do. I have to help the pawns. It's my job."

Valentine snorted. "Pawns exist to fall, Doctor. I don't care if Mopolite cuts all the Bugs down. I don't care if the Bugs eat him and his people alive. I would enjoy watching both groups take your fossil of a dead organisation with them. It doesn't matter who wins this stupid little war. I'll be there at the end with a bag and a long list of ready buyers for the weapons, the trinkets, and even the bodies. Whatever happens, I win."

"You'll set these people up to kill one another just to steal their things?"

"They aren't people. They are clever animals, and I want their pelts. It's just good business."

Pol looked down at her papers. She didn't meet Miss Valentine's eyes. "You could stop this."

"I have no intention of stopping it. Good evening, Doctor Pol."

Pol stood, placing the papers back into her bag and shutting it with a click. "Good evening, Miss Valentine."

She walked out as briskly as she could. The team had the exits covered, but that would be no help if she was killed on her way out. She made it to the door, and hated how her own alert levels flushed with relief as she stepped outside. A dark car pulled up at the kerb, and after one quick check to ensure her driver was a friend, she stepped in.

Jack sat in the back, waiting for her. "We got the recording."

"I have the backup," Pol said, pulling out her own microrecorder. "She's good. She almost didn't confess. Where are we?"

"Albert's halfway to London. Lois is trying to schedule a meeting for me with the Bugs."

At that moment, both comms crackled to life with Albert's voice. _"Boss, we have a problem."_

"Go ahead."

_"I called ahead. Smith went in to let them know I needed a few minutes of their time. He says they've packed up."_

"What do you mean? There are thousands of aliens in London."

_"Yeah, and most of them aren't talking to us. The Machine's big hitters, and the man himself, they're not home. I think they're already in Cardiff, or on their way."_

"Midnight," Jack sighed. "He meant it. Is everyone listening in?"

There was a short chorus. Lois cleared her throat. _"The Bugs won't see you, and they won't listen when I tell them it's urgent. They're getting ready."_

"Polly, I'm dropping you off. You're the only one who might get an answer out of the locals where this is going down."

Without further instruction, Ianto turned the car down a different street, headed towards the alien-heavy area of the city.

 _"Wait,"_ Gwen said. _"I have another idea."_

***

Freda wouldn't even unlock her door. "Go away."

Gwen rested against the frame. She felt the eyes on her from the other flats in this building. Night had fallen, and she was alone in a place where everyone thought she and her friends had murdered a group of aliens this morning. "I need to talk to you. I know who killed your husband."

"It was you." She was crying on the other side of the door.

"No, sweetheart." She felt so bad for the girl. Lost in time, shunted from a world that hated her to a world where she was barely tolerated, and now a widow. "The people who had him and the rest killed wanted you to think so. I want to bring them to justice, but I need your help."

"You's lying. You always lies. You lied to me. You lied to Andy. You keeps lying!"

"I'm not lying now. I want to help you. I want to help your friends."

"He's dead," she said, whispering against the door. "Just like Gran, just like Mam. Killed for being what he was. Yous going to kill me next?"

"There's going to be a big fight tonight. Mopolite's Machine is already on their way. The Bugs are meeting them at midnight, somewhere in the city. They're going to fight and a lot of people are going to be killed. Please, Freda. If you know where they're going to be, you have to tell me. I can stop more people dying."

"Or kill us all in one place?"

Us. "You're not going tonight."

"Why shouldn't I? Got nothing left here. I can show those English ghost ies a thing or two. Better than waiting for them to come for me." Her breath hiccuped. "The Bugs say if we lose, Mopolite's going to make his thugs eat the men, and them's the lucky ones. The girls'll get grabbed for his brothels, or chucked into his harem."

"He's got two wives. It's hardly a harem." Besides, Martha had told her over drinks that his two wives were married to each other first and opted to marry him later. Gwen felt Freda would not care.

"I'd rather be dead than end up like that."

"No-one has to die. No-one is getting carried off. Freda, I can help you. I can stop this. You have to tell me where you're going tonight."

"What if you's lying again?"

Gwen grumbled in frustration. Freda didn't trust her, had no reason left to trust her. Then she said, "I can make you an offer. Let me in, tell me where this is going down, and I will give you the most valuable thing I have. I'll tell you where my daughter is tonight, and I'll take you there. You can be safe."

She waited for what felt like years. Then the chain rattled and the tongue slid in the groove, and the door cracked open.

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to sandysan2013 and SnubNosedSilhouette, without whom I would have abandoned this fic.

They already had the best weapons out and readied by the time Albert got back from London. Ianto had spent his time carefully selecting each one for range and fire power, ensuring the mechanisms were clean and oiled or otherwise charged. This did not prevent Albert from rechecking each one whilst Ianto quietly fumed at the slight.

"I do know how to do this. It used to be my job."

"Still not interested in getting killed because you fucked up."

"Boys," said Jack from across the room. "Can it."

He and Gwen went over maps of the area Freda had indicated. "Industrial estate just off Clydesmuir Road. Lot of hiding places." She pulled up photographs in one window, and the rental agreement in the other. "There are a lot of homes there, too."

"Yeah," said Jack. "And Mopolite's already digging in." He pointed to the map. Ianto couldn't make out where he meant, and leant in for a better view. "We'll set up here."

"That's right out there in the open," Ianto said. "They can't miss us."

"That's the idea."

Gwen smiled at him and patted his arm. "Look at it this way. If it doesn't work, we'll be the first ones killed and we won't have to bother with the fallout."

Lois looked up from getting her kit together. "Everyone says you used to be the optimistic one."

Pol said, "Everyone lies, dear."

Rhys stayed out of the way in the corner, occasionally casting glances at Alice, who had her own rifle. "Am I going to get one of those?"

"No, love," Gwen said.

"But Alice does."

Alice rolled her eyes, then unslung her weapon, and shot off a round at the target down the corridor. Three shots, dead centre. "Alice knows how to use this," she said, slinging it again.

"Ah." Rhys chuckled, and nodded at Jack, but before he could say anything, Jack interrupted.

"And that's why your mother was the best weapons trainer I've ever met."

Steven said, "Cool! When are you going to show me how to do that?"

"Never," Ianto said, at the same time Jack said, "Next week," and Alice said, "Not until you're much older." She glared at her father. Steven deflated.

Pol clucked and said, "For the best. Guns make trouble." This didn't, Ianto noticed, stop her from stashing a gun in her handbag to match the one in her holster. "Are we ready?"

Lois said, "No," but no-one listened.

Gwen kissed Rhys on the cheek. "Stay here with Alice. Keep an eye on Anwen and Freda for me."

"Keep yourself safe," he said, hugging her. "This is a mad plan."

"But it's the only one we have." She spent a longer moment fussing over her sleepy daughter, kissing her hair and her face and making quiet promises to come home soon.

Albert led the way to the car whilst Alice and Rhys took the children, and Freda, into the locked rooms in the heart of the new Hub. Lois had triple-checked the electronic codes and made sure everyone knew them by heart. That didn't stop the worry Ianto felt as Steven passed out of his sight, nor the leaden weight in his heart as he heard the door slam and lock. He'd be fine. His mother would protect him. This was just for tonight.

Jack grabbed his arm, holding him back as the rest walked out. "I need a minute with you."

"If you only plan to take one minute, I'll pass, thanks."

Jack smirked. "You know me. I would happily take all night. But someone says he has to sleep."

"Someone does, and so do you. Your minute's half up." He watched Jack's face. "I'm coming with you on this no matter what, and half a minute won't convince me otherwise."

Jack's eyes softened. "I know. Look, when we're out there, if this goes sour, I want you behind me."

Ianto straightened up a bit. "I'm always behind you, Jack. You know that."

"I mean, I want you standing there. Don't get any bright ideas about running out and being a hero. And don't get in front of me because the last thing in the world I want is to accidentally shoot you again."

Jack squeezed his arm as Ianto unconsciously stepped away, pulse hammering. He hadn't known. He hadn't wanted to know. "I asked you not to tell me."

"I know." Jack met his eyes. "I needed you to know. I'm sorry. Please don't get shot again, and do not die again because I can't take it. All right?"

Still perplexed, Ianto nodded. He could forgive Jack anything. He knew that, and Jack knew it as well. His own memories of that mad day were still clear whatever the timeline currently said. He remembered the grey skies, and his heartbreak when Martha didn't know his face. He remembered his sudden insight, that one artefact on Earth that might defeat a perception filter, and his own desperate grab for Martha's TARDIS key, which had startled Mickey, Gwen, and Jack into action. He remembered the cold metal in his hand, and Jack's shout to the others, before he'd thrown the precious key to Steven, before the sound of the shot and the ice cold pain.

Jack could never have been the one, and Jack wouldn't lie to him to protect Mickey Smith.

With a cold rush, Ianto found that, for all he'd claimed that the details didn't matter to him, the knowledge filled him like a balloon, leaving him full when he hadn't understood he'd been empty for so long. He couldn't forgive her what he hadn't exactly forgotten. His old injury twinged and throbbed. Yet as the ache returned, he noticed the pain was lessened even from this morning. The last cut, made with care, excised the last bit of emotional shrapnel he'd been hoarding from that terrible day. If he survived the night, he'd heal cleanly.

"Yes, sir."

***

The streetlights glared sodium yellow on the last of the snow. Cold air bit into exposed skin. Jack worried, remembering too many winters past when friends' fingers went too numb to shoot. This wasn't France during the hellish winter of '17. These friends had thermal lining and warm beds to get back to, if they lived.

He looked over them, as they nervously checked their weapons one last time. Every team was his best team. He couldn't function if he spent his life mourning those he'd lost from each iteration of Torchwood. He'd never forget any of them, not Harriet or Gerald, not Charles or Greg, not Lucia or Meg, and not Toshiko or Owen. When these good people passed on to that place he couldn't follow, he'd remember them.

Sparing a glance for the man beside him, he hoped he wouldn't lose his mind the next time. Because there would be a next time. It could be tonight. It could be seventy years from now. Jack would lose another of the great loves of his life, and he would have to go on.

Ianto caught his eyes. "This had better work. If we get killed, I intend to haunt you this time."

"You won't be alone," Gwen said. "I've been practising my chain-rattling."

Pol tutted. "You promised not to tell us about what Rhys likes to do in your bedroom."

Albert rolled his eyes. Lois admitted she could be up for making spooky noises, then asked timorously, "Is it too late for me to point out I'm just the admin, and go home?"

"Admins get eaten by insane cannibal villagers, too."

"Once!" Jack said, turning on Ianto in exasperation. "You almost got eaten by insane cannibal villagers _once_."

Gwen said, "I got shot that trip, don't forget."

Albert said, "You may get another chance tonight, unless you packed your Kevlar knickers."

"You also promised not to tell us about your knickers."

Lois asked if she should order the team a set of incontinence pants for their next mission. Ianto suggested brands. Polly disagreed with most of his suggestions, and touted the medical-grade brand from the hospital. Gwen refused, citing the bad fit under her jeans. Albert stared at the butt of his gun as though he'd like to start beating himself to death with it.

Jack watched them fondly as they bickered over underwear instead of panicking. "Does anyone need a rousing speech? I've come up with a good one."

"No," came the chorus of voices.

"Right."

In the shadows of the buildings around them, forms moved and readied. Jack was almost sure this would be ground zero, where the two groups clashed. But what if they went for the safety of doors and walls, and attacked one another from the rooftops? Midnight fast approached them, with too many variables.

Albert said, "Boss, do not fuck this up. The rest of you, it's been a honour and I'll buy the first round in Hell."

The alarm Jack had set on his wrist strap beeped, a purposefully tinny alarm reminiscent of the worst clock he'd owned in the mid-80s. He held up his arm. The alarm beeped and echoed between the buildings, from the windows and the metal doors.

"Do you hear that?" Jack shouted, letting his voice follow the reflected beeps, casting audible footprints down the road. "That's the warning. Two minutes to midnight. Two minutes until the truce is over."

He stepped out, a little away from the band of warmth that was his team.

"You know who I am." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You know who we are. Some of you think we burned down your warehouse and stole a ship. Some of you think we stormed into a garage this morning and murdered seven of your people."

"You did, you bastards!" came a shout from a doorway, with as thick a South Glamorgan accent as Jack had ever heard.

"I'm standing here telling you we didn't. We didn't kill those people. We didn't take your things." He took a breath, stinging cold air filling his lungs. "And you've been fighting, but I'm here to tell you, you didn't kill one another, either. The assassinations, the thefts, yeah, some of it's been you, but a lot of the escalation has come from a third party."

"Torchwood," said a voice from a different shadow. A different accent, East London.

"Okay, a fourth party. There's a group, they keep quiet but you may have heard of them. They're called Firestone Finance. They set you up, set us up. They want us all fighting so we'll do their dirty work for them, and kill one another. They want us dead, and they want to swoop in and pick up our toys." And we almost missed their play.

He touched the playback button on his arm. Miss Valentine's voice boomed through the estate:

_"I don't care if Mopolite cuts all the Bugs down. I don't care if the Bugs eat him and his people alive. I would enjoy watching both groups take your fossil of a dead organisation with them. It doesn't matter who wins this stupid little war. I'll be there at the end with a bag and a long list of ready buyers for the weapons, the trinkets, and even the bodies. Whatever happens, I win."_

He shut off the recording. A moment later, his strap beeped again. He let the sound go five times before silencing it. "That's midnight."

"What if we don't believe you?" asked a shadow. Behind that shadow, voices rumbled in languages Jack had barely heard of.

"Then you come out here and you tear each other apart. Your people will be slaughtered, and Miss Valentine wins the game."

"Maybe we will start with you." This voice was much closer. Not all the species here tonight were entirely corporeal. Wouldn't be the first time he'd had to deal with a temperamental gas bag.

"Maybe you will. You'll have to go through us to get to each other."

He stepped back, until the back of his coat felt the heat of the other five standing together. His team.

"And I guess, since this is my town, I get to make the first play."

He gave the hand signal. The six of them lowered their weapons and placed them on the ground in front of their feet, metal clicking sharply against the asphalt. Jack raised his hands above his head.

"Your call," he said. "Fight each other and die for nothing." He pressed play again:

_"They aren't people. They are clever animals, and I want their pelts."_

"Your choice," Jack said, and he waited.

The Boss Bug walked out of the shadows. It approached him, walking into the thin light of the sodium lamps. Jack watched the tip of the weapon point at his head, and idly identified the model. That would shear off the top of his skull, shattering bone and spilling brain. He could not read the Bug's face at all. Close by, he heard Pol clutch at her handbag.

The Bug set down its weapon. "If this is another trap, you will wish you could die, Captain."

"It's not."

"It could be," said Mopolite's cultured tones, as he strolled into the light. He shook his mandibles at them. "I could kill you both right now and have this dreadful nonsense sorted."

"You could," Jack said. He kept his hands up. "You could kill them. You could spend time until you got bored trying to kill me. But I'm unkillable, and they're Welsh, and neither of us will ever give up. You've lost before you begin. Make a deal. Prove you're smarter than Miss Valentine thinks you are." He grinned. "I happen to have her Cardiff and London offices," he said, reaching into a pocket and gingerly retrieving a small bit of paper. "You can register a complaint with her."

Mopolite reached out a hand for the addresses, which Jack pulled back. "Gwen would like to have an extra word with you later, by the way. She has a few concerns about some of your business interests." Jack felt Gwen's eyes on the back of his neck. He'd promised her but he wasn't sure he should press his luck tonight. Shut down the war today, and she could shut down his brothels and the drugs ring tomorrow. It'd give her a project, assuming Jack hadn't just killed the entire deal and all of them as well.

He held his breath.

Mopolite tilted his head. Then he set down his gun with exaggerated grace. "Give me the address. We will talk."

***  
February 15th  
***

Lois took Dr. Pol back to her own house, and offered to stay and help the last of the clean-up. Albert joined them unasked. "You should be safe now," she assured the doctor in the car, catching Albert's eye as she did. They might have to offer to stay on tonight, one of them anyway, until Pol was more secure in her home. Invaded once, frightened forever.

Albert said, "They're not coming back. Ever."

Pol sat back in her seat. "I know the first fellow won't. I'm not sure about his friend."

"I am." And nothing either of them asked of him ever yielded a more detailed answer than that.

They parked in front of the house. As they stepped out with Pol and her bag, Lois took note of their surroundings. The slushy snow on her front walk had been ploughed. The door, which had been broken in its frame by the invaders, now sat tidily closed. The wood clearly needed fresh paint over the repair, but paint wouldn't set in this cold.

Albert glanced at Lois and got his gun ready as they approached the house. The door opened in front of them before they could reach it, and a young man with untidy hair and a nervous smile peeked out. Albert almost shot him. Pol's hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

"Darren, hello," she said loudly. "What are you doing here?"

Darren grinned. "You're back!" He opened the door to let them inside. As they entered, Lois saw how their quick clean-up effort from the other day had been completed. The carpet was cleaned of glass and blood, and a new (ish, her eye said; this was second-hand with years of scratches in the old wood but lovingly polished) coffee table in the centre of the room. Even the dishes in the sink had been scrubbed and tidied away.

Darren fumbled with his hands. "We, um, that is, the other neighbours and I. Well, you were gone. And your house was a tip. So we fixed it up, me and Miss Suwali and Mrs. Pettidear and everyone." The nervous smile was back. "You're so good at taking care of everyone, they all said. They wanted to take care of you for a change."

Pol sat heavily on her settee. Then she stared up at Darren. "Thank you," she said, a choke deep in her throat.

"It's all right, isn't it?"

Lois said, "It was very kind of you."

"Only we were worried," Darren nattered on,"because Torchwood showed up, and we thought maybe they'd take you away." He looked at Lois and Albert. "You know, on account of her being an alien and all."

"What's Torchwood?" Lois chimed in on cue.

"You think I'm a what?"

Albert said nothing, but Lois watched a knife drop smoothly from the sheathe in his sleeve into his hand. He stepped, casually but squarely, between Pol and Darren.

Darren raised his hands. "It's all right. Everyone knows. Except Mrs. Pettidear, I think, but she's a bit daft." He smiled again. "It's Cardiff, you know." He nodded at Lois. "When you've been here a bit longer, you'll learn. It's all aliens and such. Most of them are all right, like Dr. Pol here. The ones that aren't, that's Torchwood's business. You'll see them around the city. I met them once. They're okay. Bit weird but they mean well."

Pol smiled weakly at him. "So I've heard. You really aren't frightened of me?"

"Nah. None of us are."

Lois saw the knife shift and push back into place.

"Anyway, come round when you can. We're all doing supper for you this week, no arguments." He nodded amiably at Lois and Albert. "Your friends can come along, too. Make it a real party."

Before either of them could decline, Pol said, "That'd be lovely."

***

"I don't have to drive you home," Gwen said, as Freda stepped into her car. "If you don't want to go, you could stay with us."

Freda's shoulders slumped even deeper into her jacket. "I have to sort out the funeral," she said in a small, tired voice. Resident aliens didn't go much for burials, choosing cremation and disguise unless they had a religious prohibition.

Gwen had nearly forgotten Slaus had died, so caught up she'd been with not dying herself. She was forgetting too much these days. She used to be the one who remembered birthdays, and anniversaries, and who was getting married. It seemed that every time she turned around, she'd lost another thought. She didn't want to lose this one.

Gwen said, "Hold on a moment." She dialled Rhys. "All right, we're putting off dinner."

Rhys sounded confused over the phone. "But it's Valentine's. You said we had to go out."

"We'll make it up another time."

He let out a breath. "I'm allowed to say it this time. Bloody Torchwood again?"

"Not this time. Love you. I'll be home later." She rang off. To Freda she said, "That's my day cleared. I'm taking you back, and I will help you with this. All right?"

Freda shrugged again. "Yeah. Thanks."

And when the funeral was over, Gwen thought as she drove, she'd talk with Freda and with Rhys. They had gone through three nannies already. Perhaps Freda would be up for the job. It would do her some good to move out of her sad little flat with the terrible memories and into a home where she'd be cared for, and where Gwen wouldn't ever forget her again.

Not a perfect solution. Torchwood never offered those.

***

Jack told the rest of the team not to come in for the whole weekend unless the west coast fell into the Irish Sea. They were all tired, and they'd done him proud, he said, but only where Ianto could hear. Jack had a terrible habit of not praising his people when they did well, which only served to make them try even harder to please him. Ianto was of course above all that, except when he wasn't.

They drove Alice and Steven as far as the train station. Jack would happily drive them the entire way, but Alice insisted the train was better.

"But it's the weekend," Steven said, without much hope. "I get to stay over weekends."

Alice squeezed him. "Their flat is a wreck, and we need to get home. I've got to get things sorted out. Besides, we need to pick up Dribble and bring her home before Mrs. Emerson kicks her out."

"Her name is Batman," he said with a grumpy glare.

Ianto said, "I believe that dog generally answers to 'Supper,' actually."

Steven gave him a quick, somewhat embarrassed hug. He was getting old for hugs, especially hugs with someone who wasn't his dad. But he wasn't too old just yet. "Be good," Ianto said. "We'll pick you up next weekend."

Alice didn't have a hug for her father, though she shook Ianto's hand warmly before boarding the train. "Call him tonight," she said. "He'll settle in better back home."

"I will."

Steven waved, and then they boarded, and he couldn't see where they walked or sat. Beside him, Jack watched the train load, and slowly pull away from the station.

"Some day, that woman is going to like me again."

"Doubtful. She is working her way back to loving you, if that's any consolation." Ianto took his hand, mindful that people would stare and not caring. "We should go home. We have a mess to clean up, and a long weekend ahead of us to do it in."

Jack grimaced at the prospect of cleaning. "Maybe the west coast will fall into the sea?"

"Don't be that way, Captain. You, me, a broom, and a large pot of coffee. It'll be like the old days."

Jack squeezed his hand. "Hey, it's the day after Valentine's, and we never did anything."

"Romance isn't really us. You're not going to convince me to skive off."

"Pity."

They walked to the observation platform, listening to the trains, and the bustle of people around them. He admitted to a bit of fascination with trains ever since Rhys had had that odd experience at Grangetown Station. Watching now, he knew Jack had walked these platforms, and their predecessors, for years. Ianto himself had been shot just over there. Hell of a thing.

Jack said, "They found a dead body on a train that left here a few days ago. Weird thing was, the guy had deteriorated in place and no-one noticed he was there until this morning when someone sat on him."

Ianto wrinkled his nose. "Alien?"

"Human."

"Not our department, then."

"I suppose not." Jack pulled him away from the observation platform and towards the car park. "I didn't say thank you for the coral."

"You didn't have to. We were occupied." Ianto got in, picking the driving seat without comment. He really wanted a car of his own again. "I thought you might like having it back."

"She's a bit of TARDIS. She broke apart on the shore here seventy years ago. I've grown her from a piece the size of a pea."

Ianto, reaching for the key, stopped dead. "You kept a TARDIS as a desk ornament?" So many questions asserted themselves at once. Jack's obsession with the Doctor, with escaping Earth properly, and his returning here over and again despite both, and how the TARDIS of his dreams hated the very touch of him, and what it meant to keep a bit of one alive, like a broken-off piece of spider plant stuck in a hopeful glass of water. Which had watched them have sex numerous times.

Carefully, he turned the key. The engine growled to life. "You're growing another one, then."

"I was. Then after everything that happened, and I found out what happened to me, I thought, the TARDIS made me this way. She didn't mean to pour the whole Vortex into me, or turn me into a fixed point. She never intended for me to outlive everyone I've ever loved." As Ianto pulled out into traffic and headed towards their home, Jack said, "And I thought, maybe if this one grows up, I can ask her to take it all back from me."

Or place the same curse on someone else, Ianto thought but kept off his own face. Jack might not ever be cured, but there was a chance, however small, that he wouldn't have to go through eternity alone.

"I never knew why you had it. Her," he corrected himself.

"Thank you for finding her."

"You're welcome."

"I didn't get you anything."

"Like I said, we don't really do romance."

"Maybe we should."

Ianto turned on the radio, searching for something he liked. Driver picked the music, passenger shut up and listened, that was the rule. He looked for Red Dragon, and remembered it didn't exist any longer, the station was Capital South Wales now. Although he wasn't certain, he thought the current presenter might be one of the Welsh aliens from last night. Everything changed, even the radio. Even Jack.

He turned the car suddenly. 

"Where are we going?"

"I haven't decided."

"Okay. What are we going to do?"

Ianto kept driving as he considered places to go, things to see. They'd promised to visit Rhiannon, but that was Sunday, which was a million years away from tonight. They could take in dinner and a film, and relive their first date, with fewer arrests for public indecency this go. They could drive to the country and watch the stars, or see if that nice place down the coast where they stayed last year had any openings.

He turned the car. "We're going to Barry."

Jack snorted. "There's nothing romantic in Barry."

"Ah, you're wrong there. We're married in Barry." He chosen the ruse for the rhyme, and saw the quirk of Jack's lips as he took in the joke. "The flat is rented through the end of next month. Seems a shame to waste it. Tonight we can pretend we're newlyweds. Tomorrow, we need to clean."

Jack sat back, listening to the next song start on the radio. "I like it."

***  
The End  
***

Previous reel_torchwood fics:

[Jack Harkness and the Chocolate Factory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/98081) (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory)  
[The Extraterrestrial](http://archiveofourown.org/works/98087) (E.T.)  
[The Day the Dragons Came](http://archiveofourown.org/works/153657) (Reign of Fire)  
[Just Because They Protect You Doesn't Mean They Like You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/518945) (Clerks)  
[Back, and Back, and Back a Little More (Future Optional)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/976891) (Back to the Future)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My three favorite words are, "I liked this."


End file.
